Daughters of Hecate
by Elanthra
Summary: A series of unfortunate events occurs when a curse is sent via the ancient Trochlor lines. A Wraith story. Some Team Whump. Shep Whump. And even some Todd Whump.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: 

Daughters of Hecate was started as long ago as that time J. Mallozzi talked of the abandoned ep 'Hexed' for Season 5. We were under the impression that it would have been a more comedic ep along the lines of the two Irrs. and that Mr Flanigan had expressed concerns therefore, that it wouldn't have been in keeping with the character of Sheppard. Whumpers all screamed to deaf ears: 'well, why not just write a serious one?' This, then, is my humble version of a more serious 'Hexed,' tied in with a Todd story.

Delayed for a number of reasons, the most major being months of writer's block, suddenly it seemed a shame to leave a 36,000 word story on my files unfinished, so I pushed at it to complete and here I am with just over 112,000. As usual, I intend to update regularly every other day or so.

As this is a post- season 5 story, there may be minor spoilers for all seasons but especially Vengeance, Season 3 - the one with Michael's iratus superbugs. There! Now my spoiler warning needs spoilers!

Reviews would be good. They'd give me incentive to finish other stories! I have 25,000 words of a sequel to 'Dead Man's Shoes' laying around somewhere...

* * *

Daughters of Hecate

Foreword

Legend has it that the Forfallen are invincible. Prophecies say they are not so invulnerable and one will come who will destroy them utterly. History says the Wraith have already done so thousands of years ago. Rumour has it, they live still...

Chapter One

"Yes, Master."

They are to travel to Forfallen. Illum to accompany his Wraith Lord.

"It is customary that the designation, 'Master,' is followed by a bow and… averted eyes," instructs his Wraith Lord, not with words that chide Illum's oversight but with words that are almost benign.

Illum considers the command. He has forgotten the expected courtesy, fallen away from memory as so many things. His right hand fidgets at his side and he glances down in its direction. Once, he is certain, he used his right hand to signify compliance with an order. Once, he raised his hand to his forehead. But never to… this Wraith. He is sure of that.

And he frowns, puzzled, as he bows his head slightly and looks down to the floor of the Hive ship where strange mists swirl at his feet, strange mists that imitate those that fog his coherent thought. It is easier to do this, to simply obey every command, than to question why he is to go with his Master, the two of them alone, to this planet. It is easier to do this than search for reason in his memory.

For there is no memory.

Only wisps of images, that sweep through his mind, beyond his grasp, meaningless, with their no-beginning and their no-ending.

"You should accustom yourself to the practice," says the Wraith, steely eyes watching Illum, as Illum looks up once more. "You are a Wraith follower, after all. It is more convincing." And the Wraith shakes his head, as if annoyed with himself for saying that.

But Illum cannot even remember what a Wraith follower is exactly. A servant? Then... he supposes he should be grateful for the clothes upon his back provided by his Master.

His name. Even that has been chosen for him.

And his life. He should be grateful for his life.

For he also supposes that the Wraith could take his life. That the Wraith has had the opportunity to do so and has not. Has spared Illum. For the Wraith is not Illum's kind. Illum is human. And though Illum has no memory of his personal history, how he has come to be here at this precise time, this precise location, it has taken little to figure out that the Wraith, judging from his appearances alone, could be a threat and he should be treated as any threat, with quiet respect.

And Illum should also be grateful for the enzyme. For the enzyme gives him strength, and he is sure of this too, that once he has been weak, so very weak and it is good to feel strong again.

"We are altering course and in two days we shall be at Forfallen." The Wraith strides from one data pad stand to another, concentrating on his work. And Illum sees his own face reflected, as a mirror, in the green glare of glass.

A stranger looks back at him.

Even his own voice is foreign to him.

A human around forty. Dark unruly hair with a touch of grey. A beard that does little to disguise his thick bulbous lips. A round face out of all proportion with his thin form. Florid skin, nearly swollen in appearance. His hand goes to his cheek.

How could he even forget his own face?

And he longs to remember. He so longs to remember that his heart aches. This ship, this ship with its dark cavernous chambers and corridors, with the rank stench from the stretched membranes that form walls and columns, this place is not home. Can never be home.

Home.

Where was home? Were there ever loved ones that knew this face as their own? A wife? Children? The Wraith has not told him. As if to spare him? A Wraith would be so... merciful?

The Wraith has said that Illum has come from the planet of Tierozn. A villager. He _does_ wear the simple tunic of farmer. But he looks to his hands, certain they are not the hands that have worked the fields. And when his memory seems to surface, like some cumbrous driftwood briefly turning in a morning tide, that sinks to the depths once more, he does not see village huts, wood and thatch but a palace of diamonds, that glistens and sparkles as the sea. The picture in his mind is so brief, so fleeting it cannot even have been a dream.

Then... he also longs to escape?

Can he ever do so when the Wraith seems always to be so watchful? Even when Illum sleeps, he is certain that somehow the Wraith has the means to watch him.

"Until the time of our departure, I suggest you rest," says his Master.

Then... the Wraith is a good master to think of his servant.

Another Wraith works at another console further in the semi-darkness of the Hive control room. He snorts his disapproval and Illum's Master, snarling, glares back at his fellow Wraith. His Master is protecting Illum, even from other Wraith. And Illum cannot understand his position here. Cannot understand the nature of his employment. He doesn't feel like a servant though he has to say 'master' and bow to be... convincing. Convincing who? He is told to rest. Always to rest. He is not given duties but is instructed to go with his Master to Forfallen. There are no other Wraith followers on this ship. No others are given orders such as these. He is sure of that too.

Illum is unique.

"What is the purpose of travelling there?" he dares to ask. He has no past. And without this information he feels as if he has no future. Caught in this moment only. Forever and ever…

"You will know, you will know when we arrive." And his Master nods his head, confident that Illum would.

Illum is forced to accept this and walks slowly to the exit where he stops, hesitating.

"Master?" The word still does not come easy. Is still unfamiliar.

"Yes, Illum?"

"The enzyme?" He longs for more enzyme too. His mouth is dry. His skin itches and his gut longs for the enzyme. His palms are hot and sweaty. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, the flexing of muscles making the scab at the wound on his right wrist scrape at the thick band of leather that cover it.

He had been gravely injured once and his Master has healed him. Illum knows this though he cannot now recollect the details.

"The correct interval between doses has not yet passed," says the Wraith more firmly. "An excess is unhealthy for you. You will receive sufficient to regain your strength. No more. I made…" And the Wraith huffs, shaking himself, frowning, setting to work at his console again, concentrates on his screen, clearly not wishing to discuss this subject further.

"Master?"

"It is nothing. I made a promise to someone, once…"

A woman with auburn hair. More of those fleeting pictures in Illum's mind.

"…Concerning you," he finishes. "To ensure you remain safe. It may as yet be a promise I cannot keep. Go now to your quarters, Illum. I have much to prepare for."

And Illum is dismissed with a wave of a hand.

-oAo-

Teyla Emmagan, (of all the beings in the Universe!) had, unwittingly, taught him... _this_.

When he had read her mind once, on Earth, and had thus become cognisant with all manner of things. Would that she had known?

The Lanteans had endeavoured, as always, to conceal their technology and their trivial (oh yes, so very important to them) plans... hmmm... Of course, they had also ensured distance and prevented contact between him and their actual physical bodies. Locked him up. _Again._ Wouldn't want him feeding now, would they? (A chuckle.) But the mind is a very powerful tool and that had been left free and unshackled.

So he had discovered... _this_... oh... and the other very useful piece of intelligence too... must not neglect to forget... and the relevance of _that_ here? That Elizabeth Weir had become a Replicator, that she had warned of other species in Pegasus. Further confirmation of the High Commander's already growing suspicion and intelligence. And the relevance of _that_ here? The proposed Wraith alliance, correction, _his _alliance with the Lanteans, in readiness to defeat the new threat, hopefully even before the threat arose...

So he had discovered... _this_: the means to hone, to sharpen his already highly developed telepathic skills; to meld, to combine his thoughts with another and not simply with fellow Wraith; to facilitate projection across the Pegasus, much as stellar light with speed and no boundaries; to meditate and to become one... (a hissing sneer to the Earth terminology, a woefully inadequate description but the Wraith had no phrase in his own language that came close) to become one with the Universe and all existence. Not that he ever aspired to Ascend. No! Never! Leave that to the foolishness of humans! There is life, and then there is death. No, use meditation as a tool to _prolong_ life, to see deep into eventualities that might _shorten_ life. Yes.

And subsequently, he had discovered this truth also - it was, as John Sheppard would say, 'damned difficult'. Ah, and silly things he had learned from _that_ particular human.

And this irked. That meditation required practice and application. And time. And _Fini_. (Sighs) Yes, he had dependency on the human Fini too. He had to concede that fact. But he supposed Fini was an adequate enough teacher.

But preparations for this alliance meant that said time was now scarce.

But...

'Damned difficult did not mean impossible,' John Sheppard would finish. It simply meant that rewards were slow and he was certain with perseverance, the benefits would be tremendous... to himself... oh... and the Wraith Alliance... must endeavour not to forget that-

"You interrupt me?"

His eyes flicked open with instant anger. And his second-in-command hesitated at the door. What Wraith would not hesitate when challenged by what he hoped was the most murderous of glares?

"Those were your instructions. When we approached the rendezvous." And the Wraith bowed his defence. That the Commander deferentially acknowledged with a nod.

"But we are not close and yet we have slowed down?" he enquired. Though lost in his reflections, he had sensed their location. Had heard the slow groan of diminishing power to all main drives. And yes, he did experience an agreeable pang of pleasure that his mind could now perform on so many levels simultaneously.

"The Trochlor lines. At the convergence." The Point of Convergence... at the very centre, as near as could be calculated, _as near as it mattered_, of Pegasus. "We anticipated this obstacle? There is interference in varying degrees in all the ship's systems."

"The Trochlor lines... mmm... Not redundant then..."

"No. They are not redundant."

"Then... some still live..." And he had known that too... images in his head... as he sat at his desk... beasts crawling through the quagmire... their claws dragging through the stench and mud... and these creatures supposedly possessed an intelligence surpassing his own? Bah!

"From this evidence, it would appear so, though perhaps it is simply residual energy?"

"No..." And the Commander turned to his desk once more, his face lit by a solitary lamp, casting his shadows of doubt beyond himself. He had seen otherwise. He was certain of it. They lived still.

"The legend has it... the Forfallen are indestructible, capable of surviving all extremities, perhaps even capable of sheltering as a life force in the lines, to reconstruct themselves when it is deemed safer..." ventured the other Wraith.

"The Phoenix Phenomenon?" A term adopted by Ancients. The Commander nodded his head, slowly, considering. "Yes. I have heard of it."

"The legend has it also... that individual Wraith, provided the Iratus gene had not been totally transmuted with time, can either use the lines, or be influenced by them against his own free will or... _hers_."

And the Commander snorted and waved a dismissive hand at his deputy. "Legends... ha...! do they not belong to the realms and lands of humans!"

Yet...

...it had been Wraith that had been instrumental in the supposed destruction of Forfallen for that very reason... That they were deemed dangerous for the control they could exert - even over Queens.

But then...?

Power. Manipulation.

Could it be supposed that he was such a Wraith that could use these selfsame lines? When he had simply sat at his desk, and seen in his mind's vision these disgusting creatures... Ha! Legends indeed! Legends that said that Forfallen were superior to Wraith. Legends that said the Forfallen were the most... _deadly_...

"We could always re-locate," proposed the second-in-command, hesitant with his suggestion.

"Wraith do not run." He was firm on that.

"No." And the second-in-command bowed again and stood corrected.

"We will soon be through you say?"

"Yes, even at these reduced speeds."

"Then continue as planned."

"Legend has it that their influence remains in the lines, and in all surrounding areas, long after the original messages have been sent," warned the other Wraith, still persistent.

"Hearsay! We do not run!" Why must he raise his voice to his underlings to make himself clear on this point?

"Just so." Again a bow.

"And..."

"Yes?"

"No more interruptions until our arrival."

"I will endeavour to see that you are not disturbed again."

For he would take this opportunity, and why not as they were so close? Certain that he is a Forfallen equal... or... curiosity, after all? Possibly. And 'look' into these lines. Though... he hated to admit to such curiosity. Wraith have no place for legends. Fables. Stories. Tales that humans tell their offspring. Good versus all that is evil... hmmm... And all that is evil to humans is often Wraith... black... white... and when, in the entire Universe, was there ever such a clear demarcation?

-oAo-

_She approaches. _

The Thirds.

From their position further down the mountain.

Watching, lurking in marshes, slipping through oily waters, unseen, silent among the blackened decaying reed beds. Their warning, generated by vibrating the uscular chord at the back of the brain, transmitted not quite as music, not quite as sound, but more as a sensation, heard only by Forfallen ears buried deep in the protective plating over the back of their necks and skulls. A humming. A regular clicking. An intonation. In feeding trances... frenzied...

The Wraith Queen would not have heard it however sharp her perception might be. But then, she was possibly preoccupied cursing her fate to be traversing the sucking bog beneath rain laden and dark storm driven clouds of a night on Forfallen.

The First Forfal raised her jaw into the wind, sniffing the air, to confirm it. Her antennae, agitated by gusts of howling wind, whipped about her long ebony forehead and into her eyes and ocelli.

Annoyingly.

Black froth slathered at her mandible and the surrounding multiple feelers indicating her mood. And Ef Xo's ragged dirt-encrusted cloak flapped limp and damp, maddening her even more and she crossly drew it in, wrapping it round her segmented insectoid body with long extended claws.

She would much rather be down in the marsh, where the wind was not so intense.

A dozen large fires, fuelled by Forfallen and Iratus bug discarded casts, that hissed and snackled in the onslaught of rain offered little warmth.

Cold-blooded, indeed!

But the Wraith Queen had insisted on open ground for this meeting and the Forfallen had obliged. Oh, let the stupid Wraith believe she was in control here! Let her believe that Iratus Forfallen were her... "less evolved" inferiors to command! But Ef Xo had known that the Wraith would be seeking an audience, long before the Queen had even known herself...

Though even here, this craggy platform set into the mountainside, was preferable to the suggested Wraith ship. Ef Xo's world was elemental. Organic as the Wraith ships were, they would feel, to a creature as free as the wind and rain, as a prison to her, an anathema, claustrophobic. Besides... there was always that threat of attack. She would not even permit the Wraith to beam down directly to this spot. She had read their minds and there were those in the Queen's company who were not favourable to this meeting. Forfallen were invincible, would ultimately prevail in such an assault, but they never relished a fight that might take years... _centuries_ to recuperate.

Usually such audiences were shunned. Business was conducted through the psychic plasma dimension. As answers to fervent prayers at candlelit alters. As answers to the shrieking anguish of nightmares into tear soaked pillows. As answers to the lusting murmur of aching groins. Those tales told by humans? Of selling your soul to demons in return for your heart's desire? Every one of them true. The Wraith fed on life forces. Broad. General. The Forfallen fed on a specific. And Ef Xo so liked to think a superior specific too, with its potential... for malice... for evil.

So much sweeter!

They had tried 'broader, general' aeons ago, so Ef Xo was fully acquainted with the difference and could never contemplate going back to anything less. Oh, to feed on the _soul_ of a Wraith Queen desirous to do harm in the universe! _And_ one who had fed on so many humans! So many impure humans. For they were _all_ fallible and weak. The very thought sent her slobbering in anticipation.

And Ef Xo, had always acknowledged that exposure on this particular mountain top, catching as it did, the cosmic dust blowing in from the Grimo constellation, and moon beams on rare clear nights, shining down from overhead Styginhal, always honed the Forfal powers, sharpened their acumen, made more acute their intuition, extended their vast telepathic range, made them... more _dangerous_...

_She makes pretence of travelling alone, but the whole mountain swarms with Wraith, s_neered the Second, Ka Oh, adding a low hiss to her clicking to indicate her contempt.

Ef Xo glanced her way, peering through the flame-lit yellow rain, the Forfallen Second, nothing more than a shadowed hulk on the other side of site, coloured only occasionally by a sear of lightning. Ka Oh had exaggerated. There were merely a half-dozen of the Queen's most faithful as the Wraith herself had wished to keep this meeting so very secret.

_It is nothing, _replied Ef Xo, hugging herself and her cloak close again against the elements. She had expected little different, that the Queen would renege on the agreement. They had permitted the Queen an escort of one. It should have been sufficient. But... such double-cross, the sense of mistrust, made the whole proceedings so much... more evil... more sweet...

Thousands of young, newly hatched bugs, suddenly came teeming, shrieking out of the near-by cave, riding a wave of mud and sludge swollen by the torrential rain, threatening to put out two of the fires. The ground made so thick with the creatures, it seemed to move and heave in one black oily mess. She kicked at a few of their number, and they tolerated it, only offended enough to shriek a little less.

Ga Hi giggled.

_Quiet! _And Ef Xo clumped the Second so hard across the skull with a claw, that Ga Hi's uscular chord actually rattled with the blow. Ga Hi, whose brain power was always suspect, merely cackled again, falling to all six appendages, the natural way, crawling off to a safer distance.

_You should kill them. Should kill them all for what they have done to our kind in the past,_ complained Bi Lu, hulking towards Ef Xo's fire.

Hunted. Slaughtered, nearly to extinction by the Wraith, save for this one small nest on Forfallen. Save for the clones created by the one they had called Michael, the So Ka, the in-between. The Wraith would never acknowledge their affinity with the Forfallen, even less that the Forfallen might be their evolutionary superiors.

_Ah but, our 'clients' should be made to feel welcome. Important. Then we can deal with them how we so please. Is that not so, Ef Xo? It is all part of the... game. Wraith are always so much... sweeter... if... 'played' with. If we forever kill them, how would we ever taste that exquisite flavour? _Pointed out Ab Su, Ef Xo's favourite Second, who always snivelled up close to the First Forfal's side. A special place in Ef Xo's affections, this Second, not a pure Black but with a streak of blue running down her back.

_Clients? _Sniffled Bi Lu, snout raised into the rain and wind with disgust. Bi Lu had better be wary. Ab Su, though only a Secondary, possessed greater telepathic powers than even Ef Xo, and was therefore potentially more of a threat to all other Seconds. It had been Ab Su who had warned them of the approach of the Wraith ship five thousand light years away after all.

_How can you do this Ef Xo First? Agree to meet a Wraith? It is an insult to our forbears, _Bi Lu clicked.

_You dare to question me?_

And Ef Xo's anger was instant. She lunged at Bi Lu's back, dropping her cloak, hugging the Second's middle section in an almost death-like grip, causing the protective plate to rise, exposing the soft ooze of flesh beneath.

Ef Xo understood exactly how far to go despite her rage, and swung round her tail to bury its tip into Bi Lu's belly, feeling the satisfying twitch of the Second as the sting was delivered, maintaining her grip to enjoy the writhing agony of the Forfal under the influence of the poison, allowing her ire to subside to relish the moment, letting the throbbing excitement reach down to her lower abdomen.

Ecstasy.

Bi Lu clicked a moan but not her submission. It would not be her way. Ef Xo injected harder. There was no need to kill Bi Lu... not quite... though in all probability, Bi Lu had some degree of immunity to the First's powerful poison.

Bi Lu struggled feebly, unable to fall to the defensive six legged stance as Ef Xo drew back her head hard, arcing her whole body. She wanted to feel this... the slavering of fluids from Bi Lu's pain reduction glands at her neck, and the squelching sensation from Bi Lu's body, that increased Ef Xo's rapture further, causing her to plunge her stigma in yet deeper...

There was no need to kill her... not quite... but Ef Xo knew the importance of pain. It was her business after all. After this, Bi Lu would not be quite so quick with her opposition. She released Bi Lu with a push, and Bi Lu, immediately dropping to five legs only, limped her way through the mud, holding her side, nursing the wound. She would heal soon enough. Even now, tissue secreted from one of Bi Lu's glands, webbed itself, criss-cross fashion to bind the puncture hole.

Ef Xo looked around her defiantly. No Second would dare doubt her authority after such a show. Yet again she had demonstrated her unquestionable right to be First. Though it was disconcerting that Ga Hi merely giggled from her side of the ring of fires.

Supremacy. Hierarchy, 'place' was always of paramount importance in all Forfallen idealogy. Firsts could only mete out punishment to Seconds. Seconds to Thirds. And this visitation was important to Ef Xo. The Wraith Queen had chosen to seek her out, perhaps even acknowledging at long last, that they were equals. This was a Queen meeting a fellow Queen.

But Ef Xo planned to overturn even this new accepted order of things.

A movement at the edge of the enclosure caught the attention of all the Forfallen. The dark skies lit by flash after flash of lightning revealed a lone Wraith. His face and hair, white and silver, made starker in the flares from above. Black eyes in their hollows surveyed all before him. His mind showed that whatever his Queen thought, the Wraith regarded the Forfallen as lowly life, an abomination, lower than the human herds, fit for nothing but squashing underfoot at birth.

He would learn one day, that such thoughts were... perilous, promised Ef Xo to herself.

"You are ready to receive my Queen?" he boomed out haughtily, obviously assessing the lack of seating arrangements as a negative indication.

"The cave is flooded!" blurted out Ga Hi, in her best Pegasian, giggling once more, taking delight in his discomfort at standing in four digit measures of stinking mud and water, her laughter incongruous in the lashing rain.

"She has to take us as she finds us," pointed out Ka Oh, coming up chest close to the Wraith, the Wraith's coat and her plating both as shining black coals in the downpour. She as proud, disdainful, fearless as he, pulling up her cloak out of harm's way of the cave's effluent of sodden Iratus excrement.

Ef Xo approached him too. "Bring her to the cave's entrance. There is a more sheltered spot where we may be seated and hold our conversation both in private and in some degree of comfort." She hated using Pegasian. Her underdeveloped tongue situated beneath her mandible was not suited for it and she was conscious of lisping as she spoke.

Her larger bulk unsettled him. She detected the temerity that he tried to hide, eyes flitting from left to right, scanning the area, looking at anything rather than meet her eye. Lightning and thunder racked the sky again and shrieking came out of the darkness that followed as a writhing swarm of young Forfallen bugs ran screeching past him. Spooked, he pulled out a stunner and started firing at the ground, sending up sprays of filthy water and blasted Iratus bodies.

"Put it away, fool!" And Ef Xo was instantly at his side, jerking down his weapon. She softened, becoming more conciliatory. "Come now? A Wraith afraid of Iratus Bugs?" she quizzed. "They smell fear. Courage is your protection."

"I have to ensure my Queen's safety," he snorted.

"Nothing is ever guaranteed." And with that ambiguous threat, he nodded and strode back down the slopes.

_Let us now see how determined our Queen is, shall we?_

And Ga Hi was not alone in clicking her laughter.

The Queen appeared moments later at her Wraith's side. Tall. Regal. Stoic. Not admitting to the existence of the storm nor her obviously soiled clothing. Though she had been sensible enough to tie up her hair, and to wear leggings and jacket and not a robe. She seemed a Wraith inclined towards a greener complexion though that might have been the jaundicing effect of the blazes and the lightning.

She bowed. Oh, and the thrill that pulsated through Ef Xo's body. Her now stumped remnants of wings rattled at her back. Indeed, truly they were equals. This was evidence enough. Ef Xo returned the bow, straightening, eying the Queen narrowly through the rain. Ef Xo's eyes, embedded in the flesh of the compound globes were the closest to human about her and could detect the slightest mood from the slightest expression. No... the Queen was unnerved by all before her... the fires, the other Forfallen that scrutinized her from the flickering shadows thrown up by the smoke. Even the plumper, shorter Ga Hi appeared intimidating. No... Ef Xo was superior to this Queen.

Ef Xo pulled her cloak around her and flounced by the fire, showing the way to two rocks sited at a recess near the cave's entrance, where they could sit comfortably. It was dry in there, twenty digits away from the pelting rain.

_See. I can do manners! _And she clicked her mockery, so that the other Forfallen, even Bi Lu, could laugh.

The Queen took her place stiffly on one of the rocks, nodding to her Wraith to stand his distance. He fought the complaint that formed in his mind. An inquisitive Ga Hi, at his side, fingered and stroked his fine leathery coat, till he could stand it no longer, scowling at her, brushing her away with one hand. She side-scuttled back to the nearest fire, cackling and clicking into the wind, darkness and rain.

"Your fame reaches far," began the Queen silkily. _Ah, compliments... _But Ef Xo sensed the Queen's awkwardness at conversing with Ef Xo's large insectoid head.

"We aim to please."

_Niceties... but this Queen's evil knows no bounds... hypocrite... oh, sweeter than ever!_

"You were difficult to locate."

"Yet, here you are."

And Ef Xo, watched the Queen's eyes flick over to the cave's entrance. Poorly lit it might be, with the rain driving down, but the Queen had nonetheless spotted some of the strange contents of the cave shelved out to hold the paraphernalia of Forfallen craft... the jars... bottles... herbs, plants, some luminescent, shining with an eerie orange red glow, some smoked and misted, pickled creatures, all sizes, worms, slugs, some alive, some screamed still, clawing at stoppers to escape, some unerringly resembling parts of humans, Wraith, flesh, bone, fingers, toes, eyes... She sensed the Wraith Queen's flesh crawl.

_Oh indeed! This Queen had met her match! _

"Down to business." The Queen had no wish to be here longer than absolutely necessary.

"Is how I like it."

"This should not take long."

"As I said, that is how I like it."

"I have... 'work' for you."

_Ah, revenge... sweet..._

-oAo-

"No... try it... you will find it good and very beneficial for your sore throat," encouraged Teyla, ignoring the eye roll from Ronon, gently pushing the rough earthenware dish closer to Rodney's chest so he had no option but take it. It was that obvious that Rodney was intent on handing the dish straight back to the stall-holder otherwise. She picked up her own steaming portion and began to carefully sip at the contents, never taking her eyes from him for one instant. No way was she going to accept a refusal from the scientist.

Rodney dubiously sniffed at the gruel. Judging from his expression, he fully expected a sheep's eye to surface any time soon and wink at him. Or worse... to see some part of lower anatomy bobbing around in there somewhere. It wouldn't have surprised Sheppard either but Teyla had said it was ok and that was good enough for him.

"You'd think they'd at least give us a spoon," Rodney complained. "And this is the local delicacy?" he queried, looking queasy, still unable to believe anything good of the glutinous grey substance that by the second seemed to be cooling and thickening into something resembling, yeah, frogspawn.

"Oh yes... quite the KFC..." said Teyla, now fully familiar with the fast food industry on Earth.

"Actually, it's more like... " began Sheppard, placing his empty bowl down on the wooden counter beside Ronon's, wiping his mouth to hide a smirk, pretending to scrutinise the surrounding bustling market and scan the architecture of the town's roof tops, "birds nest soup..."

Waiting... waiting for the expected response... just as Rodney had taken his first tentative mouth full...

Rodney choked, convulsed, half flinging the bowl back at Teyla, who only just managed to catch hold of it in time, without spilling the contents. His other free hand groped for his throat, spitting soup too close to Ronon's feet.

Ronon expertly backed away from danger with a 'hey!'

"Hey-" A coughing fit doubled Rodney over with hands on his knees, "-your-self!" he struggled out, going crimson in the face. Teyla hastily put down the bowls and asked the stall holder for water, who passed over a tumbler, concerned that a customer had fallen ill all too soon after eating his soup. Passers-by were giving them all odd looks. This was gonna be bad for trade.

Sheppard started thumping Rodney hard on the back. Grinning at Ronon. Hardly remorseful.

"Not-so... _hard_!" spluttered Rodney, waving a finger at him, "You know... what-they... put-into... _that_?" Eyes streaming.

"Bird's nest soup? Birds' _saliva,_ you mean?" he asked innocently. "Yeah. I said it was _like_ bird's nest soup... only _like_, Rodney..." said Sheppard, relentlessly carrying on with the thumping.

"Nuff-" and Rodney started coughing again with a vengeance.

"Don't talk," was Ronon's solitary bit of advice.

Teyla crouched down and touched Rodney on the shoulder to indicate he should drink the water she was holding for him.

"Rodney!" she cried alarmed as the choking increased and Rodney fell forward onto his hands and knees, away from Sheppard, leaving him standing there, staring down at his friend.

This had suddenly gotten serious. And he watched, seconds only, as a couple more spasms and gasps for air sent Rodney over to his side, curling into a ball, his body jerking, his face now blue with the effort to breathe.

Ronon was there, pushing the dazed Sheppard to one side, wrapping his arms around the scientist's chest, hauling him up. "Think he actually got something stuck?" He was going to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre, and not before time - Rodney's breathing was now nothing more than half wheezes, marked by occasional jerks. His body strangely still and limp in Ronon's arms. His eyes closed.

With a grunt, Ronon formed a fist below Rodney's ribcage and pulled back hard. Rodney flopped against Ronon like some rag doll. No other movement. Nothing.

"Crap! Get him down on the ground!" ordered Sheppard, coming close to assist. His voice edged with the panic he felt. His mind urgent with the need to perform CPR in something like minus thirty seconds flat. "We need room!" He snapped to the growing ring of onlookers as he fell quickly to his knees. Wasn't their fault. Wasn't their fault though.

Ronon quickly laid Rodney out on his back on the dusty tiles.

He looked dead. God, but he looked dead...

And Teyla, who was also down beside Sheppard, nearly as good as confirmed it. She'd taken hold of a drooping wrist. "There is no pulse, John.," she said, her eyes, big and round.

Sheppard's hands were madly ripping at the fastenings on Rodney's tac vest, ripping at his T-shirt. His palms pressing down hard on the still chest, over and over. Waiting as Ronon breathed air into the lifeless purple lips. Counting time with a whispered 'come on buddy, come on buddy.' Before back to work, once more with his hands. tense through to his shoulders, hardly daring to breath himself except for the steady 'come on, come on' uttered with each forceful thrust of his wrists... easing off... allowing Ronon space... sweating, wiping a hand across his forehead... his fault... his fault... his fault for messing around... hardly hearing Teyla yell at the store-keeper behind them.

"Did the broth contain citrus fruit?"

Damn. No one had thought to ask when they'd bought the stuff. His fault... his fault... watching Teyla madly hauling her way through the pockets of Rodney's tac jacket... her eyes growing wider. "I have it! His epi-pen?" And she jabbed it into Rodney's exposed neck as Sheppard continued to pump at Rodney's chest.

Ronon's "It's ok now," seconds later, as Rodney's chest began to gently rise and fall again.

Relief like a wave allowed his breath once more. Even a low murmur running through the crowd. But Sheppard couldn't move. Could only numbly look on as Teyla and Ronon rolled Rodney into recovery. Could only stare down at Rodney's face... Rodney's bloated face. His lips swollen... emitting a low moan... when a minute ago...

Teyla was back on her feet at the stall, repeating her earlier question.

"Did the broth contain any citrus fruits?"

She had thought to ask. Same as Ronon had thought to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre... Sheppard hadn't... numb... numb... like now... if it'd been bullets... arrows... he would have reacted... but something like this... caught off guard... Rodney's allergy was always a joke... no one had ever taken him seriously... and it'd nearly cost him... _them_...

Sheppard shivered. Cold. Hell, Lt. Col. John Sheppard in shock?

"I don't understand," stammered out the stall holder, horrified that he was to blame for the collapse of one of his customers. And Teyla reeled off a number of alien fruits that she knew were similar.

"Kwangi? Michan? Dunatti? Trell?"

And the man shook his head. "Only milk, bread, bats livers and herbs, good madam."

"We require a sample to take back with us. With the bowl." In case of some other toxin. And he grimaced at the thought of the bats liver. He was surprised they weren't all ill. But Teyla was thinking of everything... "Can you put them in some container please, so that we may carry them?" Her voice was full of urgency. They needed to be getting Rodney back through the Gate. He wasn't out of the woods yet. An occasional coughing, wheezing, accompanying the heaving of the shoulders, and the arm that rested on his prone body, showed how he still struggled.

"Hey, Rodney, you'll be ok." That's all he could do, give the guy assurances and hope he heard.

A hand touched Sheppard's shoulder and he started. "Good sir, we can help take your friend to the Gate perhaps?" He lifted his eyes. One of the villagers. Concerned. A whole sea of faces... all concerned, all affected... witnessing death... even near death is never treated lightly by anyone...

"No... no... we're good... thanks." He'd got to get his act together but couldn't stop shivering. He prayed it didn't show.

He was only vaguely aware of the stall keeper giving Teyla a leather bag, of Ronon nudging his shoulder, indicating he should stand now and move aside. And Ronon scooped up the scientist's semi-conscious body into his arms. Even this was being taken care of by Ronon.

And Sheppard followed his team through the crowd that opened up for them making a path. Still in his daze.

It wasn't far to the Gate. Wasn't far for Ronon to carry Rodney. Two streets away. The Gate, set in a small garden. They'd only been on this planet for ten minutes. Ten whole minutes. That's all the time that'd passed to nearly lose a friend...

-oAo-


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sheppard sipped the ice cold cola, his eyes looking to the horizon, squinting against the glare from the sea, appreciative of the drink - it was that sweltering hot. Grateful too for the occasional stir of air eddying around Atlantis' towers, though it was scarcely enough to even flick at his hair. The breeze wasn't that cool either but it was better than nothing. Same as he'd prefer a beer, but he was still technically on duty, so... the cola was better than nothing too. Same as he'd prefer a shower, but slinging off his shirt and tee temporarily and coming out on the balcony was a good second place.

A line of clouds bubbled up somewhere over the distant mainland, set up by thermals on the mountains. He was sure they'd be a storm before evening.

He drank again, and took a deep breath, exhaling... more of a sigh really...

So why _did_ the air con have to break down on what proved to be the hottest day of the Lantean year and when Rodney was still in the infirmary unable to fix it? And Rodney was gonna have to stop doing that - not delegating the simple basic tasks of running Atlantis so that if... if anything ever... if anything ever happened to him - It'd been hellishly close.

He threw back his head and finished off his drink and then leaned his lower arms on the balcony railings, flexing the muscles of tense shoulders, enjoying the feel of another lifting breeze over his bare skin, toying with the empty can in his hands. Thoughtful. Remembering events in the infirmary...

'He's comfortable now,' Jenny said, walking out of the cubicle, wrapping her stethoscope around her neck, leaving a nurse working at Rodney's side. 'Definitely a severe allergic reaction, anaphylaxis, and most probably due to something citrus related too. We're carrying out tests on your sample, Teyla. Bat livers, huh? If they were fruit bats, then there's your source. I'll call you when he wakes. There's no need to hang around. And the results of tests?"

The last question she directed at Woolsey, who nodded.

'How did it happen?' And Woolsey searched the faces of Ronon, Teyla and Sheppard, in turn, not accusing, simply damned surprised that it had.

'We...' and Sheppard promptly corrected that, "_I_ never thought." And Sheppard looked at the floor, and then up to Woolsey, meeting his eyes, squarely taking the rap.

'No. No, I am to blame,' claimed Teyla, glancing at Sheppard, concerned as he moved away, closer to Rodney's bed, hands on hips, not wanting to hear her shouldering the responsibility.

It was his team – his fault. Period.

'I should have known,' continued Teyla. 'It is I who recommended the broth as a delicacy of Scawon. It was something that I had eaten with impunity since childhood. I had never enquired as to its ingredients and today, Rodney's allergy was far from my mind. I... I don't know how that happened? How could we possibly forget... even Rodney did not remind us.'

When he was always the first to point it out. No, that didn't make any sense.

'We always thought... he made more of it... the allergy thing,' and Ronon coughed, also pretty choked up about the whole affair. 'Always thought... you know, he played it up...' and he left his explanation unfinished, shrugging, not wanting to speak ill of Rodney when the guy had just had such a narrow escape.

'I am sure that you all endeavoured to do your best to ensure Dr McKay's safe return,' offered Woolsey.

'It was simply an accident,' said Jenny.

Their assurances didn't work. And Sheppard said nothing in reply, continuing to stare across to the sleeping Rodney.

'You ok?' Jenny then asked and Sheppard glanced up realising her medical eyes were anxiously giving him the once over.

He was still shivering. Just couldn't seem to get warm. Even back on Atlantis. Even with this heat wave threatening.

'Fine,' he lied.

She caught him unawares and suddenly grabbed for his wrist to take a pulse.

He sharply snatched his hand away from her. 'I said I'm fine!' And he took himself even closer to Rodney's side. Ronon followed him over, indicating the prone scientist with a nod. Just too much of the sympathetic stuff in his eyes. Sheppard didn't need sympathy. He just needed this not to have happened.

'Hey, it's rough.' And Sheppard didn't know if Ronon meant rough for Rodney, for Sheppard or for any of them.

'Yeah... yeah...'

And he heard Jenny murmur behind him and he tried to block her out. Tried to stop the trembling. Tried to keep his breathing even with Rodney's as he slept.

'It's shock. I think he's in shock. Would you believe he's actually in shock?' as if she struggled to actually believe it.

'He _is_ pale,' Woolsey agreed, whispering but also in earshot. 'You think I should relieve him of duty?'

'Wanna try that?' asked Jenny, and Sheppard imagined two eyebrows raised in ridicule at the idea.

He wished they wouldn't do that. He could hear every damn word. Concern. His best interests. He just didn't need it.

'I'll get him to his quarters,' whispered Teyla, always knowing, knowing he wouldn't openly be seen to submit to care here. She always knew.

'Get him warm... blanket... drink...'

'Yes. Yes,' said Teyla, understanding.

'And tea's good,' Woolsey volunteered, which must have earned him another withering look as he coughed and added, 'Or so I've heard.'

'If he's still not right, you get him straight back here even if Ronon has to drag him kicking and screaming,' was Jenny's piece of advice...

The sun dipped behind a cloud. The storm was going to hit Atlantis a whole lot sooner than Sheppard had thought. He went inside and grabbed another can from his mini fridge, drinking thirstily as he returned to the balcony, eying up the threat from the sky.

He'd gotten over it but hated Jenny's silent supportive pat on the arm the second time he'd visited Rodney. A doctor's thing he knew. Carson would have done just the same.

'Rodney...' he ventured after staring at Rodney's odd choice for breakfast, chocolate cookie ice cream. He guessed either Jenny was spoiling him rotten or that's all the poor guy could swallow, but it was sort of... off-putting. 'Rodney...' He hesitated because he'd been meaning to say this for some time now. He'd been turning this over and over in his head, picking up the courage to come right out with it. And now he was failing. Miserably.

'Yes?' The scientist's voice was both squeaky and nasally all at once because of the cannula at his nose. And that was off-putting too. As was Rodney looking up expectantly, with big eyes, encouraging him to go on, like some innocent puppy dog expecting the worse of his master. And here was Sheppard with all this... guilt and these images in his head of Rodney convulsing on the ground.

Why was this so damned difficult?

So, out with it, straight. Best way. He took a deep breath. 'There's never any... _pressure,_ you know?'

'Pressure?' Rodney must have been wondering what the hell he was on about - anything from geysers on PZ2 KL1 to kettles in the nurses' quarters.

'Yeah... pressure... to... er... keep up... with _us_... with us... Ronon... Teyla... me... sometimes..." and Sheppard watched the mouthfuls of ice-cream as they were shovelled in... all definitely off-putting. He was sure he was reddening, painfully aware of Rodney's undivided attention, trying to understand, as Sheppard picked his way through his words. This was like a minefield. How was he ever gonna be tactful with this?

'Sometimes you must feel under pressure... to keep up... not just physically... I mean... to be one of us... not to be left out... you needn't feel like that... not ever... you're... you're an equal, Rodney... you don't have to try and prove anything... we're all equal... we all... you know... bring something to the team... don't … don't ever forget that...'

A spoonful stopped halfway between Rodney's bowl and his mouth, surprise written all over his still-swollen face.

'What brought this on? Oh... you _think_...' and he let the spoon fall and started twirling a finger round in full comprehension now - no mean feat with a pulse oximeter still taped to it.

'You think... the _allergy_? I didn't bring it up on Scawon because... I... um,' and another spoonful got shoved in, and Sheppard had to resist the urge to tell him to slow down, else he'd choke. _Again._

'I... um... didn't want to seem, well, _weak_? No, no, truly, I'd completely forgotten. It's been awhile since my last attack, you see... just didn't think... went clear out of my head... I don't even remember packing my pen... so there you go.' Each pause marked by another huge spoonful of ice-cream.

'No one to blame... except me.' Rodney fully understood then how Sheppard had been beating himself up over this. 'Um... thanks anyway... the pressure speech... thanks.'

And Sheppard pushed his hands in his pockets, still awkward with all of this. 'Yeah, thanks Rodney.'

For making it easy for him.

'And you know,' continued Rodney, finishing his ice cream and taking a quick slurp from a glass of milk, 'I haven't had the chance, but thanks for all the life saving stuff back there... um... appreciated and all that.'

'Wasn't me. Ronon,' he confessed, turning away, his mouth set in a grim line. 'Yeah. It was Ronon and Teyla. Not me.' And he caught Rodney looking at him, quizzing him, but saying nothing...

Sheppard turned to his room as his door buzzer sounded suddenly. Crap! And he hurtled back into his room, and flipping the can through the air for a perfect landing in the bin, he grabbed his shirt from the bed, slipping it on in no seconds flat. No time for the tee. He thought to open the doors, hurriedly buttoning up, hating the way the shirt instantly stuck to his back.

Teyla.

He glanced at his abandoned earpiece on his dresser.

"You have to come! Quick! It's Ronon!" She'd been running. Was still out of breath.

"Ronon?"

"He's been shot, John! An accident down on the firing range!"

-oAo-

They give him enzyme. To make him stronger they say. Illum wonders if it is this, that takes away his memory. Though there is no secrecy in the way the Wraith doses him. He's given a small tumbler full to swallow. They could, if they liked, if they meant him harm by giving him the enzyme, simply slip it into his food.

But why would they do that? Why would they want to harm him?

But why does his Master care for him? Ensure that he is well and strong?

He was very ill once. There are two wounds on his right arm. One is at his elbow. One is at his wrist. And there is much bruising along the lower arm in between. Illum's right arm always feels stiff. He exercises it to drive away the dull ache that makes his arm feel heavy.

The Wraith that gives him the enzyme also dresses these wounds that have not healed. He says that enzyme will speed the healing. And yet... Illum's Master has explained he has healed Illum once before – and this was without the enzyme? – when Illum was taken from his planet.

Why is his Master treating him this way?

Illum is special. Unique.

Who did his Master make the promise to?

If the enzyme is taking away his memories, and Illum can think of no other explanation why he has none, then what memories are the Wraith trying to hide?

Perhaps they are horrific memories of losing his family? Perhaps his Master is protecting him, to ensure he does not remember this, the loss of his family... for Illum feels, when memory is just there at his fingertips, elusive, flying from him as some moth or butterfly, that he must have faced such a loss... and in searching for memory, he is left with nothing more than the dust of wings at his fingertips and the longing of the return of something beautiful.

For on this Wraith ship, he is surrounded by all that is foreign and ugly. He does not belong here.

Illum sits on his bed as the Wraith dresses his wounds. Illum watches his hands moving deftly with the bandages. The bandages are strangely black and rubbery. The Wraith straps a leather wrist band over the bandages as if to conceal the wound. Why do they wish to conceal the wound at his wrist? And how had he come by it? He remembered waking on his first day here and lifting the bandages out of curiosity. Black stitching holding the edges of skin together. A straight cut. What had caused such a wound?

He looks up. His Master is watching him from the shadows, as his arm is being bandaged. Illum picks up courage to ask the question that bothers him.

"Master, did I harm myself?"

His Master looks shocked, surprised.

"No. Illum. You would never do that," he says quietly.

"I thought that I might have lost my family and could not live with the loss and this is why you give me the enzyme to drive away their memory."

"I know that you struggle to trust me, Illum, but believe me, for what I say is truth, whatever it is you face, you always do so with courage and fortitude."

Illum does not understand his role, his position on the ship. He calls the Commander, Master, but he feels that his Master must also be his friend.

-oAo-

Teyla had escorted Amelia from the infirmary, back to her quarters. Herbal tea and sympathetic girl chat, Rodney supposed. Though Jenny had also given the poor girl a sedative. And she had needed to get cleaned up. He wished Teyla had also taken Sheppard with her. Or at least, tied him down to a chair. His constant pacing up and down, hands on his hips, at the foot of Rodney's bed was -

And he impatiently lifted his head from his laptop-

"Look! Just stop that, will you! It's..."

Sheppard stopped and looked at Rodney... but those eyes weren't seeing Rodney. Distant, they were seeing Ronon, over and over again... on the gurney... blood... Amelia's uniform... blood... Lorne's uniform... blood... Jenny's scrubs covered in blood... resus... medical reassurances as Ronon was wheeled into surgery... And Rodney sort of understood that. Those same images were still clinging like limpets to the insides of his eyeballs after all.

"It's just that... sorry... you pacing up and down like that, it's irritating, you know?" Somehow, his limp tones didn't carry the impact of his words. Sheppard bit at a lip, and swept one hand through his hair. And promptly did another turn at pacing. Did he _ever_ listen to Rodney?

"It's Ronon, you know? _Ronon?_" Sheppard just wasn't getting over the disbelief any time soon.

"Yep. Know that. Noticed that too. I'm good at noticing things. Did I ever tell you I was a genius?"

"Hell, Rodney..." And it was back to pacing again.

"There's nothing you can do, except wait. They said that." Yeah, like Rodney McKay could play the waiting game too. How many times had the screen or keyboard fused into one before his very eyes? How many times had he selected files and then had wondered why?

He studied Sheppard. "You're blaming yourself, aren't you?" More of a thought out loud than anything. And then it really did dawn on him - the truth in that.

"You can't possibly blame yourself for this! You weren't even there!" he shrilled out.

But the way Sheppard glanced at him and turned away, hugging into himself with both arms, showed that he did.

"It's... it's like... I dunno... yeah... I feel like I'm... _responsible_," Sheppard admitted.

"What? _How?" _Rodney screeched, well aware he was also screwing up his face in sheer disbelief. And he folded his arms. "Oh, because you _hired_ Ronon in the first place." Because as far as Rodney could see the link was that tenuous. "How far back are you actually going to go here with the blame thing?"

Sheppard just threw him another look, as if he were wishing he'd never confided anything.

"It was an accident. Pure and simple! No way could you have prevented Ronon's accident," said Rodney.

"It couldn't have been an accident! Ronon just doesn't make those sort of mistakes!" And how many times in the last twenty minutes had Sheppard said that too?

Rodney sighed and pulled up the vids for the firing range cameras yet again, and swivelled his laptop round on his bed for Sheppard to see.

"Perhaps this time, you could actually look at the thing, hmmm? Assess and inwardly digest in true Colonel fashion?"

Sheppard stared at him instead.

"Rodney, you think, I'm losing it here, huh?"

Perhaps Sheppard was? A double guilt trip in only two days was a bit much even by Sheppard's standards.

"You're allowed. It's not every day..." He checked himself. He was being way too flippant in his effort to snap Sheppard out of it. It's not every day that Ronon gets shot in the chest, missing the lower left ventricle, or whatever those medical quacks called it, by a nannite's breadth – though, of course, 'medical quacks' no longer included Jenny - Sheppard was shook up? Heck, they were _all_ shook up.

"First you. Now Ronon. I'm-"

"What?" What was wrong with this guy?

Sheppard shook his head. Like even he couldn't believe himself.

"Forget it," he said and pointed to the laptop. "Just... fire it up." Well, that was a good sign. Rodney wasn't finding it easy - _never_ found it easy to put on the brave manly face, and talk Sheppard, _Sheppard, _out of whatever it was he was feeling.

Rodney shuffled the laptop back to his lap and began typing away, as Sheppard sat, a thigh on the very edge of the bed so they could watch together. The slideshow started up.

Ronon helping Amelia with target practice. And no, perhaps he wasn't supposed to be enjoying it that much... The two laughing. She's hopeless, after all. Well, compared with Ronon. He lays down his own weapon on a nearby rack behind him. Not his usual gun. But standard military issue, the Berretta M9. Now being examined by forensics. He assists her stance. Wraps his own body around hers. All very cosy. His head is over her shoulder, whispering something in her ear. There are loud detonations from the rest of the range. From other marines practising under Lorne's supervision. That make Rodney's eyes blink even with the sound down low. The two in the vid are oblivious to all that's going on around them. Ronon uses his own arms to lift Amelia's to the correct firing position. She lets off her round. She pulls away from Ronon, whoops and makes a fist because she's hit bull's eye or near to. Ronon turns smiling, to retrieve his gun. A marine walks by, looking at them. Knocks into the rack. The gun slips across the top of the rack with the impact. It goes off. Catching Ronon in mid- chest. He's thrown back against Amelia and then to the floor. And Lorne is good. He's there in seconds with first aid and calling for medics...

"Play it again," demanded Sheppard, who'd lowered his head to study the screen, his face intense with concentration.

"It's no good, Sheppard-"

"Again. Slomo. Where Ronon puts down the gun."

Rodney did as instructed. But he'd carried out this same routine twice already for Woolsey and Lorne and both had come to the same conclusion. Accident. He glanced at Sheppard's face lit up by the small screen. Frowning.

"See," pointed out Rodney, making his voice as gentle as humanly possible, "he didn't put the safety on. It was..." He couldn't bring himself to say it was Ronon's own fault. "It was an accident. The same way my lemon soup was an accident. And Ronon, when he's all well again, will be the first to admit it. We'll look back at this, over a beer and have a good laugh. I mean, he'll never live this down. We'll never let him." And that was choking Rodney to say all that, because they didn't know yet... couldn't be sure yet... that Ronon would pull through this...

Sheppard tightened his lips, still looking at Rodney's screen saver, knowing that Rodney was doing his utmost to cheer him up.

"Play that section again," and he straightened up, pointing impatiently at the screen, "when Daniels walked into the rack."

"It's no good, Sheppard. It was accident. Replay won't change that."

"Guns just don't go off. Not even with safety catches off." And Lorne had said that too, that it was weird. Apparently these things were tested at the design stage against accidental discharge.

And Sheppard squinted hard at the screen again and Rodney watched him flinch when the gun fired.

"Play it again." And seconds later. "Again."

"What? Are you some sort of masochist!" Because, for real? Did Sheppard really want to watch Ronon take a bullet over and over?

"Do it! Only get in closer. And slower. Much slower." Rodney tapped in the commands and offered the laptop back to Sheppard. But he stood instead. "No. You watch it. Tell me what you see. Tell me I'm not going nuts here. Tell me I'm not seeing that damn gun turn on its own and point itself at Ronon."

-oAo-


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks for the reviews! :-)

* * *

Chapter Three

Rodney limped in. Sorta hunched up. Eyes scanning the infirmary. Searching for Jenny.

Amend that. Searching for _anyone_ that might help him.

No. Jenny. It had to be Jenny. But he was hit by a people tidal wave and no sign of Jenny. Medics rushing around. Marines. Uniforms. Pals, colleagues supporting one another in their hour of dire need. Gurneys, wheelchairs, some with patients, some without. Some moaning. Some bloodied. Tech staff carrying samples and clipboards. IV stands and equipment being pushed through the madding crowd. A loud buzz of conversation – the place was just too noisy to be an actual place of healing, thought Rodney, as some sumo wrestler of a nurse yelled out right into his ear, making him duck and flinch.

"Can those who have flu symptoms please form an orderly queue in the corridor and you will be seen to in the doctor's office!" trying her best, with no obvious effect, to bring order to chaos. "Will you please all clear the main area of the infirmary and give staff room to see to those who require urgent attention!"

Was it him? Wasn't he requiring urgent attention?

"You have to sit down," drawled Sheppard to his left, sporting a nasty cut at his hairline, slouched back against a chair, set up beside Ronon's bed.

"Yeah, wait your turn," agreed Ronon, with a sparkle in his eye. Which was good. It was good to see Ronon sitting up now and not looking quite so... shot.

Rodney still threw absent glances across all the drawn curtains. One was pulled aside suddenly, and Teyla hopped off a bed, thanked a medic, and picking a path through the hustle, made it to their corner, an arm in a sling, two fingers snugly bandaged up.

"No. You don't understand. I have to see Jenny."

All three smirked at one another detecting the desperation in his voice.

"Oh, trust you to take this the wrong way," he sang, rolling his eyes. "It's a professional visit only!" he explained, and then his despair seeped in again, not really caring what they thought. "I have to see Jenny," he repeated, frantically scanning the infirmary once more.

"So do a hundred other guys," pointed out Sheppard, shifting in his chair, grunting with the effort, rubbing his left shoulder with his right hand.

"What's happened here? It's like a… disaster area."

"Yes. I would be inclined to agree," said Teyla, looking back across the ward. And then she turned to Rodney. "You must sit down, Rodney. You appear to be in some... discomfit." There was only the one vacant chair next to Sheppard.

Rodney had tried standing straight so they wouldn't notice... He guessed he just wasn't cutting it.

"No, I'd rather stand." And he wasn't just bravely bluffing because, truthfully, he really _would_ prefer to stand.

"What is it, Rodney? A boil on the ass?" asked Sheppard.

"What? No!"

"Haemm-" suggested Teyla sympathetically.

"No!"

"Dysfunctional-" put in Ronon.

"No! It's none of those things!" And quickly - why couldn't he have thought of this sooner? "It's just a stomach bug."

"Then why not sit?" persisted Teyla.

"Because... I was... I was leaving the chair for you!" rushing out his words, because this lie was all good stuff. "You look as if you might need it." He jutted his chin out at her hand. He could do chivalrous when needed.

"Why thank you, Rodney. But it is only my hand that ails me. Whereas you?" And she arched an eyebrow at him... no... she wasn't looking at his lower half... she just wasn't... And he went redder than ever.

But he still wouldn't sit down.

"What happened?" To deflect the conversation away from himself. "To...um... your hand?"

"I was fighting with sticks. It appears, following an unfortunate knock that I have badly bruised, though thankfully not broken..." and she paused, studying her bound hand, unsure of the medical terminology, "the middle and proximal phalanxes? On my... pinkie, you call it?"

"And that's why...?" And he twiddled his own finger, thankfully whole, at Sheppard. Sheppard sat nursing wounds too, after all, "You were fighting Sheppard?" And Sheppard moved in his seat with obvious embarrassment.

Revenge is sweet.

"No. He fell downstairs," said Ronon, with just the teeniest hint of a jibe.

"You said you wouldn't rat on me!" protested Sheppard.

"Hey, it's how it happened," and Ronon shrugged, and Sheppard let his moment go, because the big guy hadn't had much fun lately, had he?

"You fell downstairs?" asked Rodney incredulously.

"Yes. Tower A. Those stairs can be bastards," said Ronon. Now that was a full blown jibe, and Rodney, for all the pain of his... _condition_, felt compelled to join in, but Sheppard's black scowl in his direction soon chased that thought away and Rodney's open mouth clamped shut.

"He's injured his shoulder and it is very probable that he has concussion," explained Teyla, oblivious or just good natured or both. "He is fortunate he has not incurred more serious injuries. And he wouldn't have even come here if Lorne had not been firm with him. He really should have been attended to before me, but insisted I go first and now it appears he has lost his turn again."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure, it's just a bruise or two," said Sheppard, standing, but... did he just sway ever so slightly? And Rodney just felt sick at the thought of concussion. The very thought of concussion always made him feel nauseous. He'd had a concussion. Once. He knew just how sick you could feel.

"And seeing as the queue is getting longer by the minute, I think I'll just go to my quarters and wait there," he continued. And Teyla was round the bed in an instant and holding him with both her good arm and the bandaged one she'd freed from the sling.

"Oh no!" she reprimanded, aiding him back down into his seat, "You are to remain where you are!" He did as instructed without complaint going deathly pale. And Rodney couldn't believe that either, no more than he could believe that Sheppard had fallen downstairs. And he felt sick again as he watched Sheppard swallow hard and shut his eyes tight and put his hand to his shoulder again. Yeah, feeling sick was psychosomatic alright. And there was Rodney's own pain too. And that was making him feel sick too.

And then Sheppard leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a hand to his temple now, and Rodney supposed the guy couldn't sort out which part of him hurt most. Rodney moved forward to help. And even Ronon leaned over in his bed. And Teyla was down on her knees, looking up into Sheppard's face anxiously.

"John?"

"S'ok... guess... just stood up too quick... and..."

"And?"

"Can't seem to get this damn clicking noise out of my head."

"Clicking? John, I think I should call for a medic now and find you a bed," and she was off in an instant, searching for someone, bumping into Woolsey on the way out of the office, clutching at a tub of pills in one hand and dabbing a streaming nose with a hanky held in the other. He stopped at Ronon's bed.

"Colonel?"

And Sheppard straightened up.

"This is a sorry state of affairs we find ourselves in, don't you think?" asked Woolsey, before sneezing into the hanky, finishing by blowing his nose loudly.

"Wha?" managed the dazed Sheppard.

"Translation needed for those of us with only two brain cells instead of the usual three," chirped up Rodney, quickly turning his eyes away from Sheppard's deathly glare.

"We're in deep crap?" offered Ronon.

"Well, I wouldn't use those words exactly," said their Commander, lifting his glasses and wiping his eyes again, and stepping closer to the bed to make way for a gurney complete with patient and two medics. "But there has to be half of Atlantis in here. Dr. Keller and her staff can't cope. I'm considering calling in a state of emergency and asking for extra personnel from Earth. This situation has been steadily worsening over the past week. What with this influenza too. It's..." and he sneezed again.

And Rodney felt like sneezing too. Because sneezing is psychosomatic too and he'd only just recovered from the flu himself despite undergoing the agony of a flu vaccination.

"But today," and he looked back at the infirmary, bleary-eyed, "today, well, I'm not one to give into superstition, but you could nearly conclude that today is Friday the Thirteenth."

"You mean, we're cursed," said Ronon, who might be one to give into superstition.

"Well, I wouldn't use those words either," said Woolsey, with a voice now very nasally with his hanky permanently fixed to his face.

And Rodney's eyes also started watering because that was psychosomatic too, though that was probably because his own problem was getting so much worse now and he really did need to see Jenny so desperately.

"But..." struggled on Woolsey, moving again, to allow a marine through, limping badly holding onto the shoulder of his buddy. "There must be something... going on." And he sneezed again. "All this..." and he waved a free hand and all his germs over the room, "is simply too much of a coincidence following on so close after Ronon's gun incident. Or am I the only one who thinks that? Perhaps it is my present malady and I am talking through fever."

"I explained that to you!" squawked Rodney impatiently. "Residual momentum. Friction. Then lack of it! Oil on the gun! Grime on the rack!" Because there just had to be a logical scientific explanation – there just had to be.

And Sheppard screwed up his face at him. Because Sheppard hadn't bought that story for an instant. Nor Rodney's first suggestion of a camera malfunction. And no... as Rodney's explanations went, they were the worse ever because logical explanations just couldn't account for that gun. Not ever.

A flash of lightning outside. And rain streamed down a window in torrents.

"And that?" Said Woolsey pointing. "That's been going on for days now, with no let up. And the scans all show that it's limited to this specific five square miles only. Does that not strike you as a trifle unusual?"

"Localised ionisation," defended Rodney.

"Only here? It's like that house in... you know the one..." and he sneezed once more, and hooted into his hanky. And they were all good, and diplomatically didn't laugh at that.

"The Addams Family," offered Ronon.

"Yes. That. And you?" meaning Sheppard, "You didn't simply fall downstairs?"

"Well, yeah, I did," confessed Sheppard, pulling a face.

"And Teyla just happened to injure her finger? And the list goes on and on? I think..." and he sneezed once more. "Excuse me..." pausing to mop his nose and eyes yet again, "I think Dr. McKay should commence some investigations, to begin to eliminate possibilities. Ensure there's no toxins in the ventilation systems... something like that? And the weather? Check there isn't an outside influence perhaps?"

"Atlantis would detect it," Rodney was quick to point out, "the sensors-"

"The sensors might not be working," cut in Sheppard. "Like the air con the other week." And then he swallowed hard. And his mouth and face tightened against the pain. And Rodney felt his nausea in his own throat at the very thought of Sheppard's.

"I dunno..." struggled out Sheppard, "it's Pegasus, Rodney, and I'm with Woolsey... something sure as hell is messing with us. And for the last two weeks, I've-"

And they all looked at him.

"It's nothing," he clamped up, at seeing all their enquiring faces. And then he seemed to have second thoughts, and went ahead anyway. "Sometimes, it feels like... none of us are thinking straight..."

And they all understood that.

The nurse had begun yelling again, still vainly attempting to organise about twenty guys at the door to formulate that orderly queue.

"I'll look into it, as soon as... as... I leave here," Rodney said quickly, trying to talk over her. He really had to see Jenny first. "It might be that sensors are unable to pick up anything new. Are only programmed to register old stuff. But what are you suggesting? Something neurological?"

It had happened before, when they'd all lost their memories.

And Rodney felt so relieved then to see Jenny and Teyla on the far side of the infirmary, heading their way through the crowd with so many 'excuse me's.' Couldn't they see she had an emergency to attend to?

"Whatever it is, it appears to be affecting everyone without discrimination," observed Woolsey, interrupted by the arrival of Jenny with two medics and a wheelchair to assist Sheppard to a bed, and he allowed them to take him by each arm and help him in.

"I'm sorry, Rodney," Jenny then said, over her shoulder, for all to hear, "but the boil on your backside will just have to wait."

-oAo-

The Commander of the upper right quadrant, vectors 90 degrees and 18 slavaks, 69 degrees and 20 slavaks, off into the depths of space, near to the planet the Ancients had numbered 62X 9ML and in his own tongue was called Ofsgord, sighed upon reaching the upper residency levels of the ship where the transporter beam had just deposited him. A cursory glance over his shoulder checked that his escort had followed him down from his own vessel, now stationary along side. When... both ships should be a thousand light years away from here. This detour was more than a minor irritation. And his growl at the guards who approached his own group in the murky corridor was only a part of that simmering anger.

Nothing was said. The two Drones let them pass and then dropped in behind. The Commander was expected and knew his way to this particular Queen's chambers. She had been... 'difficult' on more than one occasion in the past.

As they rounded the corner to enter the throne room, his eyes narrowed, peering through stray strands of silver hair, not simply to adjust to the dim light, which in itself was remarkable, as throne rooms were not usually so darkened, but more in puzzlement?

Ah... she was shutting him out still. Barring him still from accessing her mind. Closer proximity on board her ship and he was none the wiser. He would have to concentrate. She would not be able to maintain this level of a mental barrier throughout the entirety of this conversation. At some point, a mere flick of a second, and she would weaken and at least relinquish some of those thoughts, and he would know, or at least, make a good supposition of the truth. It was a game they would play. He concealing that he was after this information and her knowing that he sought it out. And neither saying.

She was standing in the shadows, face to the wall. Tall, slender, even for a Wraith and of the greener complexion, wearing her hair loose and shimmering around bare shoulders exposed above her low blue sheen robe.

So much like her twin sister...

The throne sat empty on its dais.

He hesitated. This... this symbolism of lost authority was so like her. The wave of venomous loathing hit him from her direction, nearly palpable. She had never made a secret of her dislike for the Ofsgord Commander and what she considered, his _human_ ideas.

"You are delayed at the rendezvous?" He immediately challenged. There was little point in niceties now even though her position demanded it.

"What of it?" Her retort was instant, snarled back at him.

"It further delays the whole proceedings," his voice rising, though he fought it. It was detrimental to his plans if he excessively offended her. However much they despised one another he could not afford to permit this alliance to flounder.

"So," and she turned away from the wall, and nodded to the guards to leave, "suddenly, I am important to you, that I should concern myself with your... 'appointment', Todd ash Luyten?"

He flinched at the insult. There was no true translation of the meaning underlying the phrase..._ the one called Todd by humans._ Contempt did not even close. He hated John Sheppard intensely at that particular moment.

"It is important to the alliance," he reminded her icily.

"Ha! The alliance. And yet..." and she came up close to him, throwing out her robe behind her, defiance in the toss of her head, in the spark of her green eyes that now caught the lamplight, "I find myself answerable to... _you_?" She hissed. "And you alone. And not to the other Queens?"

She turned suddenly and made her way to her throne, seating herself, taunting him. "And where is your Queen, Todd ash Luyten? Perhaps..." And her mind fondled with the idea, toyed with it, amused by it, "as she seems to hold humans so dear, she secludes herself, meditating and aspires to Ascend?"

He said nothing in reply, controlling his rage, leaving it as a slow rumble in his throat. After the ruse of permitting Teyla to disguise herself as his Queen, he could never admit his Queen was actually dead, killed over the skies of Atlantis.

"Perhaps, she is unwell? Perhaps poisoned by some Lantean concoction to turn us all into... swine! So that they might make food of _us_ perhaps?"

"Enough!" he bellowed. She scoffed but it silenced her. They both needed this alliance to work. And... she was... weak... weakening... he sensed this... this is why she had hid in the darkness when he had first entered the room, drawing up the last reserves of her energy. And now, on the throne, seated because of that very weakness. She had not fed lately? Even without humans, Drones were always available to her. Then her weakness had its source from elsewhere.

"You have not said, why you are delayed?" he pushed.

"My! Suspicious of fellow Wraith are we now? I hope you are not this cynical with your _human friends_," she hissed again, spitting out the last two words. "My engineers reported it to you. We were experiencing difficulties-"

There. There. Something black that moved in her mind.

"And you were requested to hold steady and we would return to lend you assistance," he reminded.

"We thought it best to land and to find safety in order to carry out the necessary repairs."

What is this? Black giant insects in her mind? Iratorians? The Iratus bug sub-class. A beast of prey that lived in scattered nests across Pegasus. Why would these be in her mind? Why would she be blocking him to conceal these?

"And now we are all ready for our little meeting," she said lightly, still persistent in her teasing.

He needed her to talk, to lower the guard on her mind further. Could her weakness and the Iratorians be linked?

"Where, where did you land?" he demanded with great urgency.

Her reluctance to reply, prompted his next response.

"I could ascertain this from your Hive's logs," he threatened and instantly turned to leave, determined not to wait on this matter, though, in all probability, she would have ensured all records were wiped.

"You would not dare!" She raged, standing, saliva dripping at her lips, body quivering with her fury.

"Then tell me the truth!" He was taking this to the brink.

"I am a Queen! I will _not_ be treated this way!" Her eyes flaring. And the guards re-entered the room, alarmed by her voice. And she could do it, she could order his execution there and then. It was justified. For Wraith law had been transgressed here by one Todd ash Luyten to order a Queen so.

He simply bowed. "Just so." Submissive.

And she nodded at what she believed to be her victory.

Just so. Let her believe the Commander of the Ofsgord quadrant was submissive. In the meantime, he was slowly gaining access to her thoughts whilst blocking his own.

Well, now, meditation was a good thing if it enabled him to do this.

"I apologise. I should be more trusting," he said, eyes to the ground but reading her still.

The black figures remained. Stalking.

And what is this? A storm. And fires. A force stronger than her own life force.

And what is this? Tendrils tangled in the scorching flame of a raging fire that reached into... squirming, tunnelling, seizing hold of his mind, pulling tight... so tight...

What is this?

He was left gasping, groping for the wall... he must not fall... would not cry out... would be unseemly... but... but the searing agony of pain that cut through his brain... the tendrils burning white, intense with heat...

His hand went to his temple... the noise... click... click... click... louder and louder... and pressure... pressure... unbearably relentless... and he could not breath... could not breath... he must fight this... and he looked up at the Queen... they'd be no pity... but her face... not gloating... he expected to see that she was killing him... that she was enjoying seeing his life taken from him... but her face showed fear... pale... knowing the horror that was in his mind.

And her face seemed to dislocate from her body... and his world was of hot glass... sharding and shattering... hive... guards... all... all of his world pulled tight by the tendrils... disintegrating, swirling into a maelstrom... soon... soon... there would be... nothing.

"What... have... you... done?" he wheezed, struggling for breath, falling heavily to his knees. This was going to be the end of him... No. No. No. Fight it. Fight it. Fight it. And he threw back his shoulders and inhaled deeply, drawing in that great strength from inner depths. And with effort... with so much effort... he drove the tendrils away, forced their shrinking, forced their contortions out of his mind... and heard the pulsing click click grow fainter and fainter...

He allowed his breathing to level. And pushed his weary body to his feet once more.

"What... was it?" the queen's voice, low, tremulous. She hardly dared raise the question. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his foggy vision, still grasping the ridges in the wall for support, hating the way he was shown to be so vulnerable, here before the Queen and fellow Wraith.

"This had nothing to do with me!" she suddenly shrieked. "Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!"

And the guards flinched, looking from one to the other, not knowing how to react.

He believed her.

"Calm. Be calm. It will... be resolved." And he stopped there, heaving in the air, driving away the residual pain in his head that prevented speech.

This level of fortitude... well now, Todd ash Luyten, surprising even for you... but a solution? When he was uncertain what had occurred here exactly, when he struggled to straighten his own thought processes in those battered and bruised brain cells of his, that had left him sluggish in body and reeling in mind as if... dropped in and out of zero gravity in the space of one nanosecond.

He staggered away from the wall, narrowing his eyes to focus blearily on the Queen who now stood at the base of her throne podium. No longer the regal figure of earlier but crumpled, distraught, pacing and wringing her hands.

Evidently, resolution of their problem would never be forthcoming from the Queen either.

He again prompted for the location of the planet, her mind now totally blocked to him.

"You cannot tell me-"

"No! No! They do not permit it!" she screeched, eyes wide with terror, hands clasping up the skirts of her robe now, so tight he thought she would tear it, shred it with her nails. He put down the repulsion that he felt for her, by her pathetic demonstration of such fear.

But clearly, neither was resolution to be found by pushing her to reveal more.

He frowned, baffled. "They? The Iratorians?" And since when did _they_ have this... power? To use her as a channel to kill him?

The Forfallen. It had to be Forfallen.

And a memory of that time when his ship had passed through the Point of Convergence.

'_The legend has it also... that individual Wraith could either use the lines... or be influenced by them against his own free will... or... hers.' _

Be influenced by Forfallen.

And he had chosen to dismiss the warning thinking only of his own possible gain if he were to use the lines. When all evidence suggested the Forfallen lived still. But those presumed Forfallen powers, those powers were all suppositional? Were simply legend? They had no grounding? Forfallen were inferior to Wraith, were they not?

But if they had control over a Queen in his alliance? And some part of him, iced over with alarm, at all the implications.

"What... have... you... done?" he stuttered out again, still laboured in his movements, still breathless, still attempting to regain his own composure.

No. The only option offered to him was to remove her further away from the source of telepathic interference so he could investigate further.

"The planet where repairs were carried out? Let us gain distance." He could always return at a later date to search this quadrant more fully. When he had evaluated the matter further. A breathing space. Well now, yes, he needed breathing space quite literally, he thought regretfully, shakily stroking the breast of his coat, aware that his lungs still worked hard. "You will join us at the rendezvous with all haste." An instruction? Indeed.

"Yes! Yes! Distance! I would like that..." He had made the correct analysis of her. The Queen, herself also shaken by the experience, was now acquiescent, grateful, for this degree of command from him. Well now, some good had come of this. Another Queen under his control then. Well now...

But how much danger was he exposing other Wraith to? When a Queen could be used as a medium for attack. Though he could...? No. Erase that thought. But he could cut her throat? It would not be the first time a Queen had met her demise that way at his hands. No. For the Queen was his means to determine the truth. He simply had to master her. For what was the reason for their interest in this Queen? To prevent this alliance? Why would the Forfallen wish to do that?

"I will leave you now so we may both prepare our ships for departure." And the two nodded. And he left her. And old habits die hard. As Todd ash Luyten was never one to back down from anything. A fleeting search backwards... a blackness... a black figure... silhouetted against a fire... an elusive whisper instantly snatched away from his thoughts...

_'Rest assured, O Queen, when the second moon of Atlantis has completed its second cycle, a death shall be mourned.'_

-oAo-

"It's... pink!" And Sheppard screwed up his face in disgust.

"Hmmm..." considered Rodney, holding his head to one side, pondering the plant before them, with its big floppy frilly petals. "What my mother, God bless her dearly departed soul, would've called _ballerina_ pink."

"It's pretty. You should be honoured to have such a plant named after you. On some planets in Pegasus, there are flowers that are similar in appearance. The eternity plant-"

"You can't kill it. It's a weed," interrupted Rodney. Having been affianced to the head botanist once, he knew these useless pieces of information.

"But... it's pink!" he persisted.

"What would you prefer? A black narcissus?" But the remark was lost on Sheppard.

"You'd think, I'd at least get something like Ronon's," he pouted. Broad-leafed with purple berries that could make a wine resembling a half-decent Shiraz. Or Teyla's. An elegant brown grass, that they believed could be genetically altered to help feed third world countries. But no, he had to get something that wouldn't seem out of place on old folks' window sills.

"They must really hate me," Sheppard concluded with a despondent air, staring down at the plant.

"Yes, well, a mandatory mile circuit around the north tower for all personnel once a week in all weathers ordered by the Military Commander might make them feel that way," agreed Rodney.

"Where's yours?" Sheppard remembered Rodney speeling out all the Latin at him a couple of years back when he'd been the first to have a plant named in his honour.

"Oh, you want to see mine? There he is!" Said Rodney pointing and beaming at a near-by shelf.

"He? How d'yer know..." And Sheppard turned and trailed off at the sight of a foot tall columnar cacti, "it's a he...?"

"Is it not obvious?" murmured Teyla, smirking.

"That's-"

"Yep!" And Rodney quickly forestalled him. Mixed company present and all that. "A healthy specimen and growing all the time!" announced Rodney. Once Rodney hadn't been quite so proud of Rodney McKayicus. He'd admitted it made him feel all scratchy and ouchy in a place where he'd rather not feel scratchy and ouchy at all.

"Ah... Colonel Sheppard!" And Dr. Munroe broke away from his group of scientists and came over to greet the three of them. "Come over to the buffet table, please! Come! Come! Help yourselves. And lets proceed with the, um, christening, shall we? And we are citrus free here today, Dr. McKay. Mr. Dex unable to attend? Still held captive in the infirmary by the ever beautiful Dr. Keller?"

"Yes. This is so," regretted Teyla, and it still amazed Sheppard how easily the Athosian could lie through her teeth when it suited. The truth was, they hadn't been able to find enough wild horses to drag the guy here. "But he sends his apologies for his absence and he hopes to be up and about tomorrow."

"That is good... that is good... such a bad accident... but all's well that end's well, eh? Come now, Colonel Sheppard, you're not eating?" And he was handed a paper plate. Well, he could do that, eat and smile, he supposed. Teyla had said that all he had to do was eat and smile and listen and politely accept the honour by way of a toast in his name - and they could be out of here in twenty minutes.

Of course, she might have lied again...

Twenty minutes later and he was still cornered by a Dr. Silsoe, nodding agreement in what he hoped were all the right places - about what constitutes the best compost. Something to do with temperature. It had to be well rotted anyhow. Or that might have been the food... he was getting so he couldn't keep up, the guy was talking so fast. And there was no sign of a let up or of any sign of a winding down in proceedings. He was certain he had lockjaw trying to force that smile there. He caught Teyla's eye, trying to instil as much 'get-me-out-of-here-appeal' as he could muster. She must have been blind or he hadn't done it very well or... she was ignoring him. She continued to smile at her companion.

"And this rack?" And she purposefully turned her back.

Now that was plain spiteful...

"New arrivals. Not been catalogued yet..."

"Oh this is very interesting... such striking leaves..."

He glanced at Rodney, stuffing his face, not minding being talked to by Dr. Mancinyk about cats. But at least, Sheppard was closer to the door – and escape... It shouldn't be difficult, he'd escaped from a lot worse than this. If Teyla could fake it, then so could he.

He slapped his earpiece. "Lorne…? Now...? Only I'm in the middle of something. Can't it wait...? Right, I'm on my way."

"You have to go?" said a disappointed Dr Silsoe, "but we haven't even got to the toast yet."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Apologise to everyone for me, will ya? Teyla will sub me." Yeah, he'd just dropped her in it without even a pique of remorse. "I'm sure she'll be very happy to do it," he said pointedly, ensuring that Teyla could hear. And he made off towards the door.

Rodney, however, had sidestepped, blocking his way, his hand raised to his own earpiece.

"What's that, Major? Emergency over? You don't need the Colonel now? Yes, I'll tell him... No, not at all, it will be my pleasure." And he pretended to sign out. "Oh dear, Sheppard. Seems you don't have to go hurrying off after all. You can stay as _long_ as you like," he said airily.

"What is this?" He hissed low under his breath, fuming into Rodney's face. "Payback time for..." Any number of things, really - the list had gotten that long.

There was a gasp. A thump. A scream from Dr Mancinyk. Rodney looked horrified to some point past Sheppard. And Sheppard spun round...

A figure lay collapsed on the floor. A bead of blood oozing from a wrist.

Teyla.

-oAo-


	4. Chapter 4

Again thanks to reviewers! We authors are an insecure lot, and so comments are always greatly appreciated!

* * *

Chapter Four

The vibration thrummed, the clicking so rapid and intense, it melded into one song, one note of pure... Holcnor, the ancient Forfallen word was Holcnor... air of heaven... air of hell... it mattered little.

Ef Xo could sense the Third, Ku Di, nearly swoon in her breathing, sharing, transmitting her joy to the others. Conscious of Ku Di's excitement, Ef Xo's own belly tightened, inhaling more deeply on the incense, Kam, pre-eminent for inducing Holcnor, that burned blue and silver, and smoked incandescent in the bone-carved caskets set into the cave walls.

She could feel Ku Di's pulsating incantation that rippled through the Pegasus Trochlor lines relaying their spells deep into space.

Tremors that rattled body plates of all the Forfallen present signified that point at which the curse hit home much like an arrow finding its target, drawing blood, twisting in the wound, and pulled forth suddenly, seeping, oozing, ruby red...

Black Forfallen forms swayed this way and that way in drunken stupor, as shadows against the bright fire. There, a tripod held the plate where the spell powder boiled and fizzled. Mandibles opened and closed in unison, hungrily lapping at the leaching soul force in the swirling drug induced fog.

At length, Forfallen thirst was satiated. Ef Xo had instructed them all, so much and then no

more. The final day would come and denial would make that final day so much sweeter...

_Ku Di? _She clicked,_ such excellence. You have mastered your art well. _

Ef Xo, had given these preliminary spells, designed to weaken their victim, to the Third, Ku Di by way of a test.

_You have displayed both ingenuity and imagination and have entertained us all. Our feast was… ah... delectable. _Ga Hi giggled somewhere in the grey smoke that still persisted in the cave. _We deem you worthy to hold the honour of Second._

The former Third, bowed her snout low, fell to all six legs in complete obeisance to her First as was the Forfallen way. Ab Su, staggering still from her intoxication, solemnly brought forth a ragged cushion, displaying a tarnished dagger. Ef Xo uttered her command and the dagger hovered into the murky air, directly over Ku Di's prostrate body.

_Salust_, _Ku Di._ And Ef Xo withdrew a step.

The dagger plummeted, driving with full force, deep into the aspiring Second's neck. Ku Di squirmed and twisted, desperately clawing back at the blade that drew blood, her clicking rapidly reaching fever pitch.

Ef Xo showed no mercy and the other Seconds looked on equally as impassive. Ga Hi cackled, nervously. And it would not hurt if Ef Xo's sisters reflected on their own mortality from time to time. If Ku Di had not prepared herself for this moment she would perish. If she had, then the cloak of Secondom was hers.

Ku Di then fell still and silent, save for a low intermittent hissing, emanating through the froth at her mandible, foam mixing with the dirt of the cave floor.

Perhaps Ef Xo had miscalculated. It would not have been the first time a Third had not been ready.

Suddenly Ku Di lunged forward and stood and the dagger fell harmlessly to the floor, with no trace of black body fluid.

And Ef Xo admitted to feeling relieved. This Third had indeed shown talent. To seek out Atlantis. To gravely wound, not just one but three victims. Admittedly, as a novice, she had been unable to generate sufficient energy to extinguish those life forces entirely. But still, to generally create all manner of mayhem was admirable, enabling the Seconds to partake of the juiciness that was the soul of the Wraith Queen. It would, indeed, have been a tragedy if this Third had not been able to believe in her own powers and master the technique of self-healing.

Ab Su brought forth a second cushion on which rested Ku Di's cloak.

_Welcome! _And Ef Xo wrapped the cloak around the humped shoulders of the most recent addition to the higher sisterhood.

_Another Second and we will be stronger. With the soul of a Wraith Queen, we will be stronger than ever... _

And soon with renewed power, Ef Xo's abdomen would be swollen with eggs and she could make her way to the marshes to create the next generation of Forfallen young.

_And it's all such good fun! _Clicked Ga Hi. And the others clicked their laughter with her.

_Ab Su will devise the next... diversion._ More laughter and knocking together of middle limbs in applause.

_It will be good. We are sure it will be good. _

_Why do you not finish this and be done? _Clicked one lone dissenter.

Ef Xo turned to the one who still dared to criticize her. Bi Lu. And found herself benevolently patient, possibly still slightly giddy, certainly warm and glowing with the after effects of the spell and the Kam.

_It was not instructed so. And besides, as Ga Hi has correctly pointed out... this way is more... fun._

-oAo-

The Wraith Queen lay upon a bed cornered with four posts of twirled membrane. Thick black silken drapes added to the shadow that hid her. She sensed his presence. And he was aware of her raising her head slightly from the pillow.

"Ah... the Chagard Kolid." _Alliance Keeper. _Keeper... little more than servant. She might be unwell but her insults were as keen and sharp as ever and he took this hard, hissing softly under his breath from his place at the door. He mentally shook himself, seeking to retrieve some semblance of indifference in those few seconds.

"Hmmm…" and he emerged from his own shadows, striding into the room. He had work to do. "And why did you ever agree to come to this meeting, if you find the notion of an alliance so unacceptable?"

She lowered her head once more, resting it on one arm, as if beaten by the question.

"But you will not let me join the other Queens? You do not trust me," she moaned.

"I have to protect them. I would be failing in my duty otherwise. We cannot be sure what may befall if you were permitted close proximity-"

"You tricked me into coming here! I find I am kept a virtual prisoner. You have taken away my guards, my scientists! I am stranded here." Her tone was so doleful he could very nearly feel pity. Very nearly.

And many of her Hive had abandoned her of their accord. None wished to serve under such a weak Queen. It was as much as he could do to prevent her assassination. But those answers... he still needed them... he still needed to keep her alive.

"And yet..." she sat up from languishing on her covers, the movement rustling the black silk beneath her faint form, her face coming into the subdued light... the only light she could bear. Her complexion now coloured a jaundiced yellow and perspiration emphasized its lines for she was sick and sickness gnawed at every part of her body, and, suspected the Obsgord Commander, devoured into something far deeper.

"And yet, unlike all those other fools, you do not fear to approach me!"

No, indeed. And he bowed to what must be a compliment hidden in her criticism of fellow Queens. Though in truth, after his last experience in her presence he had hesitated at venturing into her chambers. But he had made promises to the other Queens that he would question her further. They did not doubt his ability to do so. In return, he must honour their faith in him.

And it was his own faith now, his own belief, that he could achieve this, after spending days in preparation, of discovering greater strengths within himself. He would never allow a repeat of last time. No. He _must_ not allow a repeat of last time. It would mean his death.

"How is this?" cried the Queen, "how has this come about that a mere Commander has dominion over Queens? Is this a sign to mean the end of all Wraithdom? Is this our future?"

"It is our strength, that I can offer a link between allied Hives -"

"Hah! Peacemaker!" she scoffed, fire of contempt, lighting up now in her yellow eyes. "Strength that you rule over all? I thought you..." and her voice became plaintive, pitiful once more as she lay down her head again. "I thought you were going to... help me..."

"You require help?" He asked, stony and without emotion.

"I cannot talk with you," and she waved him away, bidding him leave, swallowing hard as if something pained her. "I find I am... tired, confused."

See... see... black figures that crawl through the marshes... Thirds-

"No! No! Who gave you permission to access my thoughts!" she suddenly screamed at him, slithering across the bed, feet quickly to the floor, half stumbling towards him. And then, she stood proud, confronting him, remembering her position finally.

"Ash-copcen! Human-worshipper!" She spat out, exposing her teeth, dripping thick with hatred. "I am... I am... _they_ are stronger than you! Did you not learn this the last time?"

She raised her hand to strike him and he blocked the blow with his own raised hand - with little effort, snarling out his own vitriolic into her face. "Weak. Pathetic. You are not worthy to bear the title of Queen! If I had not separated you from members of your hive, they would have abandoned you or worse!"

Understanding in her eyes, for she knew this to be true. She fell limp and allowed him, making no protest, to take her wrists into his. He shook her with the urgency of his question.

"Forfallen? You visited the Forfallen?" There had been confirmation in the image that he saw, for it was Forfallen who segregated their colonies so. Thirds. Seconds. Supreme power resting with the First. The Queen. "Why? Why?" For she was still able to block him. Or... the Forfallen through her.

She writhed in his hold now, twisting her head away from his insistence. Whining. Complaining.

"And why do you persist in tormenting me so?"

He would do this now. He had no option. And he put all his strength into forcing her to her knees.

"No... no... please... no," she whimpered, fighting him feebly, attempting to release her hands.

"You have brought this on yourself."

Perhaps her weakened state and this surrender meant that her mind would be more pliant, more accessible. He let go his right hand, quickly applying it to her temple, her own free hand clawing at his ineffectively.

"You... you cannot do this... I... am... a... Queen."

He didn't even know if he this could be accomplished. _Aiolac_. Mind probe. But of a Queen. Aware of history, of precedent... never in thousands of years before...

And he took control of her. Felt her shudder from the pain of it. Satisfied the pain would reduce her resistance further.

Black figures... black figures... that moved against the fires... swirling smoke... rain that hissed... clicking... chanting... laughing... they could not touch him now... he had trained himself to resist... a shudder... his own shudder... for this is difficult... difficult... not as strong as you think? They laugh... oh, be so very careful! they laugh... and swirling smoke engulfs him... chokes him... no... no... and he drives it back... cannot touch me... me, Todd ash Luyten, invested with the sovereignty of ten Queens... it is I who am stronger... and they laugh... clicking... clicking... encircle him... fires encircle him... and he turns... and he turns... and every way, he turns... the Forfallen... black shiny coats... black shiny eyes that catch the fires... mandibles that salivate, clicking... claws that clutch at his coat... prodding him with their snouts... clicking... clicking... no... no... he turns... he turns... and he turns... no... you will not be master of me... clicking, clicking, louder than the crack of lightning above... and he reaches for his ears... to stop the infernal clicking... he cannot help himself... a bargain, sisters... we have a Queen... we have Atlantis... now, we have a Wraith who commands all!... but what do you command, Todd ash Luyten...? What do you command...? Nothing... nothing... nothing... nothing... and he is falling... falling into oblivion... and the smoke swirls around... nothing...

-oAo-

Hmmm... Todd ash Luyten...

_You are thinking, Ef Xo, that he may prevent us carrying out this task? _The others had left the cave at Ef Xo's bidding, leaving only Ab Su.

_Why would he want to? The Queen appears to be a thorn in his side. He would be well rid of her if he left her to us! _As much a question to herself as to her favourite. Why would he wish to, indeed?

_But... he is persistent. Twice, now, he has been... warned._ Ab Su was clearly hesitant to continue. _The second time... he was stronger._

_Psffht! He cannot touch us! _Andneither it seemed, could they touch him.

_But still, Ef Xo, why does he interfere? Is it the human? There is something deep in this Wraith's mind-_

_It is nothing! _Clicked Ef Xo furiously, rattling her body plates as she did so, refusing to admit to such a connection.

_But- _

_Hear me, Ab Su! Nothing! It is nothing!_ Her eyes glowered as flaring hot coals. And Ab Su bowed her head in apology, cognizant always how far she could push Ef Xo.

_Well, Ab Su._ And Ef Xo, drew in her cloak thoughtfully, quickly recovering from her unseemly outburst. _Are you prepared for the next level?_

_Yes, Ef Xo First. Though before proceeding further, I seek permission to view the Jzoika. _The Pool of Knowledge.

Ah, yes. State of mind. Important for the final mix of potion. Ab Su could easily ascertain state of mind in a solitary trance, but to use the Jzoika with its guarantee of accuracy, would leave her with residual energy to initialize her spell. Ab Su's mention the human, of Todd ash Luyten's meddling, of a subliminal link between the two, however, had ruffled Ef Xo's calm. She could always deny the permission. Why encourage her Second to think her heightened sensitivity gave her the right to put forward her own opinions?

Over Ef Xo's?

_Please._

And Ef Xo, relented, in spite of herself, indicating for Ab Su to make her way to the back of the cave. The Forfallen young, indistinguishable from the Iratus bugs with whom they swarmed and mingled on the cave floor, scattered to the left and right clearing a path. If they did not, Ef Xo, simply kicked them away. Some had the misfortune to be flicked into the black and swirling pool itself, effervescing into hissing turbulent water and black fumes before they could even utter their screams.

The two Forfallen nestled themselves down onto four back legs, resting their arm joints on the rock surround some thirty digits high. Ab Su picked out the remains of bugs, some still twitching in their final death throes and drew a claw across the surface of the pool to calm the water. Near-by lamps then cast a golden translucency across the water than shone into Ab Su's black eyes, already in a semi-trance state as she clicked her chanting.

With a suddenness that never failed to take Ef Xo by surprise, the gold rippled, transforming to a iridescent blue, lighting up the whole cave with unaccustomed brightness. It then stilled and Ab Su seemed to stop her breathing... calling forth the image with her mind... pictures in a pool... the human...

The infirmary and he is seated, leaning forward, hands clasped in front, staring down to the floor...

Three days. And she still lays there, paralysed, life held by the machines, bordering on the threshold of death...

He glances to a window, as the storm continues to lash against the glass.

What the hell was going on here? What... and he shakes his head in disbelief...

And then leans back, head against the wall... eyes closed tight... she just can't die... she just can't... and he murmurs his own prayer and he wouldn't be saying his prayer out loud except that he believes he's alone here in the dead of the night and no one can hear...

This is every one of his team now. Each one he has watched... with each one he has gone through this bedside vigil... He doesn't have favourites... they are all equal... but each time it feels worse than the last... the tightening of the chest... dread churning in his stomach... the feeling that if they'd die, he'd just stop breathing too... the crushing of hope... each time... each time, he thinks they can't possibly pull through... you don't get that sort of luck...

It had been no-one's fault. But it as sure as heck felt like it... The plant had been presumed dormant. But by coming into the warmth of the bio lab, some unknown maturity process had speeded up.

It was forty eight hours before the antidote could be developed and kicked in, before the toxin could wear off. The plant had injected its seed into Teyla's wrist and with it the poison to kill the host within minutes. In its natural habitat, decomposition would have followed quickly after death providing the seed with nutrients in which to grow. The plant's production of seed was ingenuous, Dr Munroe had said. And Sheppard could have landed him a punch on the jaw, except that Munroe was helping to work on the antidote.

Forty eight hours before the antidote could be developed, given the chance to kick in and for the toxins to wear off... too damn long.

'Things happen in threes. So_ you'll_ be ok,' Rodney had said, all too cheerfully. And Sheppard could have slapped him too.

He just wishes it were him... he'd do anything... anything to trade places with Teyla right now... to save her all this...

The picture faded across the surface of the water... and Ab Su jerked as she came out of the trance.

_Always be careful what you wish for, Colonel, for wishes often find a way of coming true._ And the Forfal, Ef Xo clicked her gleeful laughter...

-oAo-

Sheppard hung back. With Mellors and McAdam. The sixes.

"Sir?" queried the young lieutenant Mellors, not really understanding why his Colonel would choose to be at the rear of the group.

"I'm supposed to be observing." And Sheppard figured that was best done from this position.

"Unless, you need me to _observe _someplace else?" Sheppard asked Lorne, resting his arms loosely on his P90, clipped to his vest, legs slightly apart. At ease. Certainly at ease. Head to one side, a cocky grin directed at Lorne, neither caring a shit about the military protocol and its mandatory quarterly review of the Exec by the CO. A part of which demanded an inspection whilst out on patrol. "I wouldn't want you to think I was interfering or anything."

Lorne smiled. "That's ok, sir. No. You're fine. You _observe_ wherever you darn well want. Let's move!" And Lorne beckoned his men forward into the jungle.

Normally Sheppard never had the time. Or the inclination for these reviews. He just ticked the boxes. There wasn't even anything to fabricate. Though he'd be prepared to do it. Lorne was just such a good XO anyway. But now, he was bored. Ronon still hadn't been cleared for duty. Teyla, now on the road to recovery, remained in the infirmary. His own shoulder was fully mended. He needed an outing. Rodney was happy to stay in the labs, investigating the possible causes of... unfortunate events. But the atmosphere on Atlantis was now - yeah, 'happy' was the right word, considered Sheppard - following a relapse in those 'unfortunate events'.

Perhaps it'd just been one of those things - Teyla's words.

Lull before the storm - Ronon's words.

And Sheppard pulled a face. Well, that was Ronon.

But Sheppard was happy enough too, happy enough to accompany Lorne through the Gate on a training mission with two new recruits. Happy enough to tag along in the rear, observing... no worries...

They'd visited this planet, several times before. With no evidence of threat, it'd been allocated a low grade D on military reports. On Rodney's more scientific reports, it'd earned itself a grade as low as G. Of no interest whatsoever. It therefore provided an important location to train in safety. Its indigenous people, half clad, tribal, shy and nervous, rarely glimpsed except making off into the dense undergrowth, where presumably they had their homes though no settlement had ever been spotted.

Rodney, however, had always queried the military grading.

Spears. Arrows. Natives. Don't they have spears and arrows? Rodney's words. And jungles? Don't they have wild animals? And jungles? Don't they have plants that poison you? And they'd all had their fill of poisonous plants lately... And jungles? Aren't they hot, sticky and mosquitoey?

'Mosquitoey, Rodney?' Sheppard had asked.

'Yes, mosquitoey.'

So Rodney was happy to stay in his lab. And Sheppard was here happily slapping the back of his sticky sweaty neck, cursing, missing by a margin, a whiny mosquitoey relative. It was close and humid here under the emerald canopy. Made worse by the need to keep on a shirt as protection from the insect life. Earth repellents didn't always work.

_Remind me, again, Rodney, why I volunteered to come here today. _

Sheppard watched McAdam's footfalls. Heard those upfront as boots and bodies crushed the dense vegetation. Occasionally, he turned, checking the path behind. And once unclipped and aimed his rifle up to the treetops, when something like a parrot, startled, flew off squawking. Nothing. Not that he expected anything. This was just a simple orienteering exercise. Let the new guys get used to offworlding. Though both had served stints at SG Command. Get to point A. Then point B. And then head back home to the Gate.

"Sir? Mind your head there, sir." McAdam. One of the newbies. Holding up some thorned vine for him to duck under. Not that it wasn't appreciated. A thing like that could take your eye out.

"Sir? Watch out for the snake, sir. Oh, it's gone. Must have scared it off."

And another five strides later.

"Sir? Mind your footing here, sir. There's a bit of a hole, sir. Must be where an old tree was once. And sir-"

"McAdam?"

"Sir?" Both speaking as they moved forward.

"I'm a big boy now," Sheppard reminded the rookie, as he carefully sidestepped the large hole.

"Sir," replied McAdam pushing a frond of palm from his face using the butt of his P90.

"I've done this sorta thing before." Following. Doing likewise.

"Sir." Stumbling a little over a root.

"I'm not breakable. Damn!" Stumbling a _lot_ over a root.

"Sir."

"I might be your senior," and he paused, grimacing at another snake slithering off into tall grass, "but I'm not _that_ senior - Sh-!"

The arrow just missed his arm, driving into the ground with a thwack next to McAdam's boot.

"Sir!"

Scanning the tree tops. McAdam, finding his target and firing. A naked, painted body plummeted down, crashing through the lower undergrowth.

Sheppard shouting. "Aim to wound only!" As gunfire rattled off at Lorne's end.

His own P90 searching the upper branches. More arrows. Swishing, hissing through the foliage. He was firing at nothing. Just scaring these guys off. P90s crack, cracking up front. Lorne shouting orders. "Back! Back! Back!" And the other five were beating their retreat. One marine, pale, groaning, an arrow hanging from his wounded shoulder and another helping him. McAdam and Sheppard standing to one side, sheltering behind a tree to let them pass.

Lorne. "What the hell, Sir!"

All of them, firing at nothing. And still the arrows rained down, ripping through, tearing up the leaves around them, twanging into tree trunks.

The foliage was their protection, deflecting most of the down fall.

"We'll hold the six!" He yelled to Lorne. "Get out of here!"

Glimpses now of more naked brown bodies as the natives closed in.

"Sir! You don't-"

"An order, Major!" No time to argue and Lorne disappeared after his men. More rounds and two more bodies fell screaming out of the trees.

"Wound only!" he reminded McAdam. But it wasn't easy. To think these guys can't help it. That it's their way. Their culture. It wasn't easy as the arrows rained down on them.

"Time to go! Move! Move! Move!" And he was pushing McAdam bodily down the path, giving him cover, firing blind into the treetops, moving backwards, to find another tree to scoot behind.

Less arrows now but - less P90 noise. A second to check over his shoulder. McAdam down and dark skinned bodies were shimmying down trees like monkeys. He turned his P90 to that direction, aiming warning shots that ripped at tree trunks, splintering off hunks of wood. But still they kept on coming. Down the trees and leaping through the shrubs and bushes right at them.

They grabbed McAdam. And Sheppard fired at their feet. Earth thrown up. He'd kill McAdam if he didn't watch out. Noise behind. Spun round. Fired at the guy with a spear. Face painted blue... point blank in the belly... Thwack, thwack. The arrows again. Fired from the ground. And Sheppard had no cover. Pain in his thigh, crap! then arm. And gasping, nearly dropped the damn rifle. Firing again, but damn it hurt... Wanted to pull the arrows out. Mustn't... Firing at... crack, crack, crack... but at nothing... no aim. Fingers weak. Vision nothing but a blur of green and bodies. Throbbing pain. And the rifle slipped from his grasp. And bodies all round, hands pulling him, pounding him. The arrows jerked out – Jeez, nooooo! – Bodies pressing close, suffocating, crazy, painted faces yelling at him. Head pummelled by fists. Knees failing him, buckling... no... slipping down into the screeching churning mass of skin and flesh. And the ground hit hard...

-oAo-


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Rows of floor to ceiling dark wooden bookcases lined all four walls of the large hall, or back to back formed three aisles along its length, home on their many hundred shelves to copper coloured scrolls and manuscripts, rolled and secured with faded red ribbon, tossed in haphazard piles. Stacks of papers lay in odd corners, presumably not yet catalogued. And he noted too, the untidy stacking of large leather bound books, stained with use, though few in number. There seemed no order here. An anathema to Todd ash Luyten, accustomed to the organization of data retrieval on computer systems. However, these computer systems and, ha... his own memory had proven wanting in his investigations into the Forfallen. He assumed the librarian here would be of assistance - if the Drones had not already sent him witless, that is.

Rays of sunlight poured through the high stained glassed windows, throwing rainbows across the vaulted ceiling where dust motes danced, stirred by his hurried progress in the narrow space between the shelving. The sound of his boots loud on the planked flooring did little to deaden that of screaming coming from the surrounding township as the cull proceeded outside. He, himself, was adequately satiated, (a stallholder who thought to protect his wife) for the task ahead of him.

A small wooden door came into view at the end of the aisle. This was a cupboard he had been informed. Locked on the inside. Two Drones stood guard at its door.

"In there?" And they nodded. Well, the human showed little promise of providing anything useful thus far, if the extent of his brain power was to flee to a dead end to conceal himself.

"Get it open!" ordered the Obsgord High Commander. And they fired at the heavy metal hinges that broke easily with the stunner impact, the door collapsing inwards only a digit or so before jamming against its own frame. Muscle bound arms wrenched it free, revealing the elderly librarian, whimpering, crouched low, arms over his head, trying to bury himself into yet more rolls of manuscripts.

"Pl-pl- please don't!"

"Come... come..." and the Wraith Commander offered out his non-feeding hand, for he could put on the most conciliatory of faces if it so suited him. The gesture, however, seemed to drive the human scrambling deeper into his papers. "I mean you no harm. I simply require your services, intelligence from your repository... come..." And he smiled charmingly, he was certain that he did, though perhaps, yes, a Wraith smile could be considered disconcerting. He held his head to one side, usually encouragement to these... lesser mortals and felt the human waver slightly.

Oh, but this was taking so much time!

Talking to a wretched human in a cupboard! He had sank to this? And he so longed to roar out his temper! But... he held that smile there, lowered his voice, stemming his quick impatience, "come... for if you do not..." and he glanced back at the Drones.

Two fearful eyes in the semi-darkness darted their direction from Todd ash Luyten's teeth to some space over his shoulder.

"Come," he repeated and beckoned with his hand once more. The librarian relented, taking the proffered hand that assisted him to his feet. Well, this was strange... touching a human thus... it was as well he had just fed. He wrapped a tight arm around the man and led him out into the light of the room, sensing the man's trembling. But it felt... tempting to feel that fear and he had to further fight back his craving to feed with a low growl. Defiance was always the most desirable emotion in a human, but fear was good too.

"See, see, we can be friends, you and I." And the little man at his side whimpered. "A... chat? Is that what you humans call it? A chat is all that I require." And the little man miserably nodded his head. "The Forfallen? What do you know of the legend of the Forfallen? For I have been reliably informed that it is you who is the expert in these matters."

"For... For... For..." stuttered out the man, wide eyes staring, gaze locked onto the two Drones.

"Yes. Forfallen. Though if you find that speaking is difficult..." (Oh, he was being so understanding here! Far beyond the call of duty!) "...simply direct me to the correct document so that I might read for myself." Or he could just force it out of him.

"For... for... fal...fallen. The... the Eaters of Souls. A legend." And the man laughed nervously, stammering, as he began to find the courage to talk. Perhaps this was a favourite subject of his? "L...legends always... always h... h... have some m... m... modicum of truth."

"This is so."

"I... I have manuscripts over here... if you'll permit..." And Todd relinquished his hold to allow the librarian to wander off down one of the aisles. He paused for a moment, listening to the dying screams of his fellow citizens outside and seemed to hesitate but looked back at Todd ash Luyten and then proceeded once more. Good man. He then pulled over a small step ladder, climbing it awkwardly.

"Though the details are scanty... even this manuscript" and he tossed it on to the growing pile of scrolls in his arms, extracting more from the shelf as he talked, "is simply a listing of possible victims of five hundred years ago on the planet Alfagoas. We have a very incomplete picture. " Carefully balancing his load, he stepped down, and placing the scrolls on a near-by empty shelf behind him, he commenced to unroll one after the other for the Commander to see.

They were written in flowing longhand, typical of these planets. And Todd ash Luyten frowned. Indecipherable, their meaning was closed to him... and then... there... something... an image in his head... a fingerprint of a transferred memory... and... these had been untied... not so long ago...

"You have shown these to others recently?" His voice sharp and gravelly.

The man quavered. "Please-"

"You have shown these to others recently?" he repeated, as his Drones drew in behind him, sensing the threat in his tone, believing they would be called upon to deal with the librarian.

The man, desperate, eyes enlarged, flicking from each of the Wraith in turn, begged for mercy. "Please! Please don't hurt me! She... she... made me promise secrecy!"

"But it is I who am here now! Not her!" And Todd ash Luyten, closed in, knowing that whatever was filling the little man's vision at that present moment would be the most terrifying and not some memory of the Queen. He well knew the impact of the yellow eyes narrowed with menace, the snarl at his lips, his face and tall form, large, black and daunting, the feeding hand free of the pages, closing and unclosing at his side.

"I... I..." and the man shrunk away, backing into the shelves, holding the collar of his jacket in absolute horror.

"Tell me!" he boomed. Though he knew the answer already. "It is I that you have to fear!"

"She... she was one of your kind... A Queen."

"And she wished to know of the Forfallen?"

"If the legends were true... yes."

"And are they? Can you know this from... these," the Commander enquired, arcing a hand to indicate the library.

"Fragmentary witness accounts..."

"Pfssht! Hearsay!"

"One in particular... a document I acquired recently... from a traveller... describing the experiences of his forbear... also of five hundred years ago..."

"Again hearsay! And so much time has passed."

And the man gabbled on, as if his life depended on the telling of the tale again, though... it most probably did.

He selected one scroll from the shelf. "Here... here is the one... how one individual... one Herstan... hated his brother who'd always been his parent's favourite... wanted him cursed... was the pilot of a spacecraft... he travelled there... actually... actually... _met... _Forfallen... _asked _in person... and his brother died within a month... terrible circumstances... burned to death... very tragic... and then Herstan himself grew very sick and weak... and the surgeons could never pinpoint what was wrong... and he wrote down his confession shortly before he died... a madman by then, true... so... no... he was not believed... but it is here, here... and he said... he said he had sold his soul to the devil... they had slowly eaten his soul in return for the favour... it is written here... here..."

"Hmmm..." and Todd ash Luyten, turned away, a thoughtful hand rubbing his chin. For this all correlated well with the Queen and explained her decline... then... she had gone to the planet of her own volition? Her hive did not malfunction as she claimed. She had _chosen_ to go there? Her malaise was well advanced as if her life force was being consumed. Then who was the intended victim? Todd ash Luyten himself? But he had not been threatened directly in any way thus far. Another Queen? All other Queens? For not wishing to vindicate the death of her twin sister, preoccupied as they were with an early Awakening and the possible location of Earth? Perhaps even Atlantis – in the past, the Queen had never concealed her hatred for those responsible for her twin sister's murder, though with her willingness to join the alliance he thought that she had long ago relinquished thoughts of revenge.

Whatever the answer, he could not permit this, could never permit this degree of control over Wraith, even though he cared little for this particular Queen. An example must be made of the Forfallen. But concede it, yes, his own kind's history showed that both the Wraith and the Lanteans had sought to destroy the Forfallen, with all the firepower at their disposal – and present circumstances showed that they lived still. Rumours abounded that they were even immortal, could conjure up powers to render themselves invincible. They had, indeed, shown considerable power. How could he, one lone Wraith succeed when his forebears had failed? Even now he was compelled to shut them out, in the likely eventuality they knew he was seeking to discover more about them. How could he even begin to act against them? And in his turn... yes... it was weakening him, at the very point in his long life span that he needed this strength most, to lead this alliance into Wraith history, to lead this alliance into peace with humans, to stave off an alien threat. Irony? Yes, that here, he was facing an alien threat within his very own Wraith community.

"The co-ordinates of the Forfallen homeland?" The Queen, indeed, had wiped her Hive's records. "It is written here?" And his eyes scanned the shelves. For that must have been the purpose of the Queen's visit.

"Yes, yes! I have them."

"Write them so that I may understand them." It was as close as he was going to admit that he could not comprehend the script.

"Yes, yes!" and the man was eager to oblige, searching for writing apparatus in his pockets. "Paper - I need paper."

And Todd ash Luyten reached for the nearest manuscript and ripped off a corner. The man paled in horror. His parchments... nearly as dear to him as life itself.

"Yes. Yes... that will do nicely," he said with obvious strained approval, glancing at Todd ash Luyten's withering look, wisely deciding not to argue the point.

"Good."

"You... you... wish to use their services? It will be very dangerous to do so," he said as he scribbled away at his copy.

"Thank you for your concern, human. The task that I envisage will definitely be so. I have no wish to consult them. I mean to... _kill_ them."

"No, no, no, you can't, you can't."

"Oh, but I can."

"No, no, you misunderstand. That is a part of the legend. Their powers of self-healing surpasses that of Wraith. And only an intended victim can ever kill them. A sort of curse reversal, if you like. I have it written here... and here... another document," and he pulled up two or three further scrolls, showering the floor with another dozen, in his haste to please.

Oh, so very considerate!

"A legend only, as you say."

"But there is never smoke without fire."

"Fire... no..."

"Here, look here, this is the description, taken from the files of Atlantis, of their attack on the Forfallen, of sending missiles of great destruction many thousands of years ago and yet they did not eradicate these beasts. Somehow they survived. And... and here, here look at this, this is an article, written by a learned seer, one Anarchis, revered in his day and one who ascended, who both theorised that it would take a being, capable of great psychic powers to overcome them. But who also predicted that such a one would come."

Did the man doubt him? And Todd ash Luyten could not prevent the low snarl directed at the man, that rendered him more nervous, more prone to stammering than ever. Of course, the fact that Todd was slowly _folding_ up the relevant documents when handed to him, unbuttoning his coat and stowing them into an inside pocket did little to help with that. Oh, the worse of all evils that Todd should be mistreating these precious things!

"The... the le... legend sp... specifies," and the librarian shuffled through yet more papers, holding them out for the Commander, "that... that it has to be a blow to the heart, but... but as they are half insect, the heart is nearly inaccessible due to their hard outer shell. Also... also they read minds. They are aware of your intent before you move. They are impossible to kill. This makes them virtually immortal, which they probably are... feeding on... souls... as... they... do..."

He listened intently to the little man babbling on. If he was to believe all this, and there was little reason not to, as half of what he had spoken, Todd ash Luyten knew to be truth, this was going to be more difficult than he originally anticipated. First, he would have to discover the Forfallen's intended target after all... and hopefully they had not succumbed as yet...

He turned abruptly to his Guards. "Let us see if there is no smoke without fire, shall we? Burn it!" and he strode to the exit.

"Burn? No! No! No! You can't! You cannot mean that! You said..." And the little man ran after him and touched his coat. Todd ash Luyten glanced disdainfully at the hand that dared to touch him and the man released his hold, wringing his hands instead. "No... no... please don't..."

"I will spare you, but not your library. There are too many... _dangerous_ things here... legends..."

"Please! This is history! Pegasus. All of it. Painstakingly collected. Centuries. Centuries of work. You cannot destroy it!"

"If it is so important to you, then die with it," he shrugged. And he walked out into the sunshine with a clear conscience. And it was odd that the little man had seemed more concerned for ancient documents than the lives of his fellow townsmen. He would never understand humans.

And it was pleasant enough outside... where the screaming had finally stopped...

-oAo-

Screaming.

Not McAdam.

Screaming, shrieking, shouting.

Coming from... a couple of dozen half-naked painted bodies... running... jostling...

Screaming. The whole damn crazy stuff shrilling into his brain. And he struggled - he'd so got to get away from this. Carried forward on a sea of hands. An upside down world. Spear-tips. Long bows. The jungle crashing into him held on high. Shit! Shit! Scratching, tearing at bare skin. They'd taken his clothes. Wearing them. Trophies wrapped round shoulders, heads, arms. Or as banners on spears. And he struggled. And the hands gripped him tighter. And the screaming, chanting got louder, more frenzied than ever. And he struggled more madly than ever. But his own hands were bound behind him. Tight. Feet bound too. Uselessly struggling against the hands. Crap but his thigh hurt. And somehow, he strained to raise his head in all the sea sick, see-sawing motion. Dazed by the drug still, but he picked out McAdam up front, carried by the throng of natives too, trussed up too, wriggling like some fish landed up on a trawler deck... _no point... no point McAdam... save strength..._ and he sunk, drowning in the sea of hands...

-oAo-

"Sir?"

Wha...?

And he squinted and somehow pulled the world into focus again. Though he'd rather not wake up... not to this... his thigh, arm and head... all three throbbed... his arm more than his thigh now... as he'd been laid on his back with his hands still tied, trapped behind him... and heck that wasn't too good on the chest and shoulder muscles... and he tried turning over... not easy when your feet are tied, and your leg is cutting like hell and the dirt grinds at every part of your bare skin and you feel weak and woozy and a spear gets pointed at your chest in a warning don't-you-move sort of way.

Good idea to stay put, then...

A glance showed him McAdam through the legs and feet of two or three of the native guards... over to his left, laying on his back much the same way... though it hurt to look over the couple of metres... the drug was still working and made his eyeballs sort of sore and scratchy in their sockets.

"You ok? Where did they get you?" he assumed that McAdam had been taken down with an arrow too. Not that he could do much about it, but he guessed the Marine could do with some sympathy if nothing else.

"Arm..." A distinct sob in the young man's voice. And Sheppard forced his foggy vision to clear even more, checking the Marine's wound. The arrow had been removed and it looked like Sheppard's shirt had been ripped up to bind it. And Sheppard managed to peer down at his own arm, grimacing at the effort. More of his shirt. Blood stained but dry. He had to lift his head just that much further to check out his thigh. And then collapsed, grunting, mouth tight against the pain. His thigh had been given the same treatment. Well, that was nice. Their captors weren't gonna allow them to bleed to death any time soon.

But he'd rather be wearing his clothes. He hated being naked like this. Vulnerable.

His guards, practically naked themselves, dressed in only bits of string, leather pouches and necklaces, were talking in a language he couldn't make out, but they were sure excited about something. He guessed it had a lot to do with him and McAdam. He hoped they weren't too sore about them shooting some of their number, but so far, he and McAdam were still alive weren't they?

He risked raising his head again to take in the area beyond his feet... see how many natives there were exactly... and then he let his head fall back again, exhausted, his neck in agony with the movement that left him breathless. And he gazed up at a patch of hot blue sky, circled with tall trees on the edge of the clearing, where birds flitted and sung... to kill a mocking bird... yeah... he could do that... kill a mocking bird...

He'd seen that the clearing had been ringed with large stones, easily a metre and a half high. On the far side, opposite them, however, stood a much larger bluish rock, carved out like the Easter Island ones. An unseeing, uncaring face...

In front of that, danced and voodooed what must have been the local witch doctor, waving a stick ornamented with bones and feathers, his body dripping with festoons of bone rattling necklaces, his skin blue with body paint. Between Voodooman and Sheppard, the noise and business of more of the natives - they'd all been males - some sort of construction. He couldn't think what it was they'd been building but his stomach clenched again at the thought of what he'd seen... Stakes in the ground. Ends shaved to a tapered point. A basis for a platform? And small fires being lit. And perhaps he wouldn't worry but the whole thing was surrounded by another smaller inner circle... of skulls. Wraith and human, but skulls all the same. Lorne had better soon get back here with the cavalry. And fast wouldn't be quick enough.

"Sir?"

But Sheppard couldn't answer. This was McAdam's first offworld trip. And Sheppard had only been observing, but somehow, he should have done more, done more, somehow to protect the guy.

"Sir? You don't think?-"

And Rodney had said, '_And jungles? Jungles do cannibals, don't they?'_

"We're not doing any thinking here, soldier!" he snapped back suddenly. "You hear! We're doing waiting here! We're _waiting_ for Lorne to start a rescue! No thinking! They'll come back for us. You just have to hold on! You hear me!" And his little outburst earned him another jab in the ribs with a spear that made him hiss and want to curl over as it cut skin. And he didn't know... he didn't know... but hell, he _did_ know... that the speech had been as much for his own benefit as McAdam's.

The noise he'd made, attracted the attention of Voodooman, who came over and started throwing some sort of blue powder into the air over them. And the world went woozy and spinning again... and the doc did some sort of dance around them, yelling and yoodling, stamping his feet, kicking up the dust, jiggling his spear with its bones, sending the two of them coughing and spluttering... and others joined in the dance... and the smoke from the fires swirled round the whole confused picture... and a couple of the natives sat down with a pot full of blue sticky paint, and painted Sheppard's and McAdam's faces, and chest and legs with circles and stripes... and damn... that had to be human hair on the brushes... just had to be...

Their bindings were cut but there was nothing either of them could do in the way of resistance… helpless against the fresh drug... giddy with the noise... weak from their wounds... and they were hoisted up into the air again by all the dancers and yellers... and the world looped and swirled and misted over... and they were heaved up high over above the stakes...

But now Sheppard was struggling for all he was worth - damn this! - he wasn't going to damn well allow this - and his arms and legs were pulled out straight. Two of the little guys on each. And others had to join in to restrain him as he kicked and pulled and bucked. And he didn't care much that spears were being prodded at him. He fought like the proverbial wild cat. And McAdam was screaming and yelling. And Sheppard was sure he was hollering loud too. And his wrists and ankles were knotted with a short rope. The other end tied to four corner posts. Stretched out... tight... tight... giving the wounds on his arm and thigh hell, pulling at the sockets of his shoulders.

And he couldn't even struggle now. Could do nothing except hang there... and the natives whooped and whooped even louder at a job well done... and Sheppard was left stretched out tight with all those stakes beneath him, directed at every damn part of his body. Held so tight his chest could hardly draw breath... so tight... and those stakes only an inch away from his skin, threatening, pointed... and his head slumped down and he was dizzy as heck but he could still make out two at each of his shoulders... one at his chest... his heart... and knew there were others lower down... and he strained to raise his head to look along his arms... muscles taut and bulging... perspiration glistening, melting the blue paint... and he glanced over to McAdam... tied up the same way...

Seconds only and his head fell forward once more... arms, neck hurt beyond bearable... a breather and he attempted it again... to try and make sense of the way their world was shaping up right now... at the length of rope that bound his wrists to the posts... smoke curling upwards... the ropes themselves stretched over fires... a fire for each corner... and as the fires burned... the ropes would burn too... were smouldering already... the ropes would burn... dropping him down onto the stakes...

Ok... he got it now... the timing of their deaths left to fate...

And natives were suddenly in his face, pulling his hair, jerking his head back, and all he could see was the Easter Island face gazing down at him... and another stake was inserted into the ground... positioned as a prop, beneath his chin... forced hard against his throat... breaths now as short grunts and he could hardly swallow... now, all that he could do was look back at the uncaring, unseeing, stony blue eyes... now, all he could do was wait...

-oAo-


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Illum cannot sleep. His whole body is alive, pulsing with the enzyme. He takes long walks, or runs through the maze of a hundred Wraith corridors. His Master permits this. Encourages him. Takes care of him. Benign as always. The exercise will be good for Illum, he says and will further strengthen Illum's muscles. He is given full access to the ship with the exception of the lower levels that are barred to him. And one chamber next to his own. But as every level looks much the same on this ship, Illum is certain the lower levels will be of no more interest to him than these upper levels.

Mists that swirl at his feet. Dark murkiness. Walls touched with slime. Archways and pillars as decayed black skin or as the muscles of some animal split wide open and allowed to die.

He runs hard and fast to drive away the images of death this place evokes.

And even in those fitful bouts of sleep he manages to snatch, those images are never far away.

Bad dreams. And a man of a hundred years calls for mercy, his voice and face cut with the deepest of human anguish. And Illum grants him that mercy and takes his life and wakes with sweat soaking his body.

Who is the man?

And... who is Illum?

His Master says that his name is Illum. But he dreams that a witch gave him the name. The Wraith have Queens. They are near to his picture of a witch. A witch from his boyhood. A witch from his history. A fragment of his history. Tales told to children...

Illum passes his time when not running, by watching the Wraith fly their ship. They've constructed him a chair, a stool, like his bed, formed from stretched membrane. They never seem to sit themselves, though he has seen his Master sit at a desk in his own chambers. Wraith seem so strong, enduring all hardship, incapable almost of even dying, for they look so old always.

'How long does a Wraith live?' he asks.

'As long as it is destined,' replies his Master.

The chair is another concession to him. This is his Master treating him with kindness and understanding again. The same as he always answers Illum's questions with patience. Without memory, Illum is a child again.

"Will you allow me to fly?" Illum asks. He knows they have smaller ships called darts that are sent ahead of the ship or on scouting trips to near-by planets that they pass.

"You are eager to try?"

And he nods and hopes his Master does not see it as Illum attempting to escape.

"You must have Wraith DNA to fly our ships."

"You could give it to me?" He is certain that the Wraith that attends to his wounds could do this for him. On his walks, he has seen the Wraith working in a laboratory, full of experiments, tubes and bubbling steaming bottles of multi-coloured liquids.

His Master huffs a laugh at his enthusiasm.

"I'm sure I can learn," Illum persists.

"Yes, I am certain that you can. I have faith that whatever you chose to do, you will perform to the utmost of your abilities and with excellence. "

He seems pleased that Illum is willing to learn how to fly the Wraith ship. Is this Illum's role here? A pupil? And his Master is his mentor?

"But it is not necessary. Once we have completed our mission, you are free to leave."

Free? Then... Illum is a prisoner, after all?

-oAo-

"Come on, Rodney! Hurry it! We're log-jamming here!"

And Lorne had never called him that. Rodney. And it must have been tension, but to Rodney, he sounded just like Sheppard. That's just how Sheppard would say it. But Sheppard wasn't here, was he? No. Sheppard had disregarded all advice. All the advice, all the _fears_ of the Head of Science. When was he ever going to listen? But what had Rodney said? Things happen in threes. So Sheppard would be ok? Rodney and his big mouth.

"McKay!" And Lorne was in Jumper One with a whole bunch of Marines, poised ready at the Gate, down in the Gate Room. And Lieutenant Mellors was hovering in another Jumper somewhere between the bay and the Gate Room with another whole bunch of marines and Ronon, because, though Jenny hadn't cleared him for regular duties, he could never be persuaded to stay behind, not for this mission.

And Jenny and a medic were in there somewhere too, but Rodney couldn't remember where exactly. Not in all this confusion. His brain failing him? _For real_? He was only calling up programmes, for heaven's sake. Deep breaths. Pull it together. He was only calling up programmes, searching. But what was going wrong here? Couldn't think straight. Cotton wool for brains.

"No! It's still not working! I... I... don't know... I can't understand it!" The Gate malfunctioning was a one in a million scenario, and one which they were always prepared for. Back-ups, fall-backs, plan Bs, Cs, plans right back to infinity and beyond.

Never before had _everything_ failed. Not without a good reason.

"McKay!" yelled Lorne again. This time from the Gate Room floor. He'd parked up the jumper, got the hatch open and was leaping and bounding up the steps to the Control Room.

"And I told you, it's not working!"

"Time's running out!"

"Yes, and I am fully aware of that fact, thank you very much." Though... they didn't know that for sure – that time was running out. Perhaps Sheppard and McAdam had fought off their pursuers and were simply stuck on the other side of a non-operational Gate.

Hope. Hope can sometimes do strange things like twist facts...

"It's just not happening, Major. Nothing is responding. All systems are as dead as a do-do," commiserated Radek. "Infected with the virus from hell."

"More of that bad luck again, huh?" And Lorne put his hands on his hips and looked like he could spit.

"It appears so, yes."

"How close is this planet by jumper?" asked Woolsey. They were all thinking the same thing.

"It's close," said Rodney, but he wished it was so much closer.

"How close?"

"Two hours," said Rodney, miserably. "Flat out." And everyone knew that 'flat out' was Sheppard speed only.

"You'll take how long with this exactly?" Lorne's eyes indicating all the Control Room consoles.

"It's going to take us hours to run a diagnostic before we can even begin to rectify anything. It's unknown," he confessed, "with more of that bad luck..." He didn't believe in such things. He really didn't.

"Right, let's get the roof open," and Lorne looked for confirmation from Woolsey who nodded. "If the Gate gets fixed before the two hours is up, you can send another team through. Do you want to stay behind and lead that?" This time Lorne directed his question to Ronon over his earpiece on a channel he still had open.

"No. I'm with you."

"Get Lieutenant Elms to take that out."

And Woolsey nodded again.

"It might leave you short of jumpers," admitted Lorne.

"Yes. I'm well aware of the risk. One, however, I'm sure we're all prepared to take," said Woolsey with his mouth set tight and grim, wriggling his neck in his collar. This was a decision that none of them wanted to make.

"Yeah. And... break a leg," Rodney muttered under his breath, as Lorne ran off. Because no way was he going to tempt fate and say good luck.

"Centuries ago, it is said, that the inhabitants of Ka'layak worshipped and sacrificed to the God of Death," said a pale Teyla, seated at a console, fresh down from the infirmary, insistent on being there to receive news as soon as it arrived.

Rodney coughed in his throat, about to start typing, to open up the roof hatch for the Jumpers.

"Well, thanks for that information." Though he hated it that he was sarcastic with her and he most probably rightly deserved the low tut-tutting and head-shaking coming from Radek.

"They have never been known to attack anyone since those days, at least, not _humans_," she added.

"So... what happened to change things?" pondered Woolsey, wandering over to the rail, looking down to the jumper now leaving the Gate Room, and the still and quiet Gate.

-oAo-

"You will tell me! Who is your intended victim?"

"No. No. No. Why do you torment me?" And Todd ash Luyten, gripping the Queen by the arm threw her to the floor.

"Tell me!"

And she raised herself on her hands, hissing, drooling blackness. "Ah, Todd ash Luyten! You cannot access my mind, can you! Afraid! You are afraid of them!"

He snarled back at her and slammed a fist to the wall, frustrated. Truth. She spoke truth. Not that he was afraid. But that they thwarted him at each and every turn.

She pushed herself from the floor and came to his side, touching his coat, fondling his arm, caressing his neck. He stood his ground, determined not to be moved by her mockery. "Ah Commander... why... don't you... kill me... you know you want to... oh, you so want to... you so want to feed... to take me-"

He pushed the foulness away from him, and she skitted across the room, laughing and dancing, the skirts of her robe swirling around. "Ah, but you mustn't! The secret will die with me! Poor, poor Todd ash Luyten! And what if... what if..." and she screeched this, "what if it's you! Or... or... what if..." and she became very serious, advancing on him, "Have you ever thought... what if... it's _all_ Wraith? Or what if... it's all Pegasus!" And she laughed hysterically again. "You see it! You see it! I am so mad, it could be anybody, any _thing_!"

"You overestimate them!" and he was in her face. Showing nothing but contempt at least equal to her own. He could sense her tremble, shake, uncertain of his threat. "You will weaken. As they feed on this madness, you will weaken. You believe that they work for you? You cannot perceive that it is _they_ that are using you? At the end of all this, you think they will be so full of generosity as to grant you life? Whereas I... I learn... I grow stronger. And a point of balance will be reached and you will no longer be their instrument but mine. Let's see you then begging to be spared! And let this be a warning to them, if they hear it!" And he turned on his heels and left the room.

-oAo-

Somewhere, they chanted, hummed. Somewhere low on the ground, close-by, they sat and waited, patient. No more crazy dancing. Occasionally, Voodooman would get up and have his say and they'd all shout back at him, and it'd make Sheppard flinch and blink and jerk his muscles, jolting screaming pain through his body.

And then the enclosure would fall quiet again. Chanting, humming. Listening, waiting. For the Great Unknowing, Unseeing to claim its victims.

_Damn it, Lorne! What's taking you so long?_

And his head had done all the calculations a hundred times over... through the Gate... reinforcements into a jumper... back again... locate their transmitter... it shouldn't be taking this long... honest, it shouldn't... something was wrong... something was so damn wrong...

A glance, huh, one of scores to the rope. Never got a good look. Restricted, half choked by the hunk of wood at his throat and chin. A body wracked with pain and aching tension... like nothing he'd ever experienced before. No respite. And he scarcely dared to move... didn't want to break those ropes too soon. Perspiration like tears in his eyes. Smoke drifted across the Uncaring, Unseeing Face. And that got in his eyes too. Smarting, blinding. More tears. But couldn't help it... had to keep on trying to look. Back... always to back to the ropes at his wrists. Ropes made of stranded dry grass. Would be scorching now. Couldn't see. Imagined it... a strand blackened, uncurling...

And suddenly, his left side dipped, and he grunted out a yell through his forced shut mouth... hell, it hurt... shaking, tremors that he couldn't stop... new tears as stakes pressed hard against the skin of his shoulder... chest... ribs... his hip... his stomach... all of them... it hurt... and the stake against his chest seemed to press the hardest of all and that didn't help with breathing none...

If he... if he gripped the rope maybe... enough slack... if he gripped the rope by twisting it round his fingers and pulled... it'd lift him free of the stakes again... not much maybe... but enough... but would bearing more of his weight, now the rope was fraying, simply weaken the rope faster? And he could only use his right hand... his left was still useless with the arrow wound... and he could never hope to ease the pressure off his lower body in the same way... if an ankle strap decided to go... beats just waiting though... beats waiting for... not going there... beats waiting for _that_ a helluva lot...

A deep breath... which wasn't much... and he strained, willing fingers, that honestly hadn't that much feeling in them... willed fingers to curl round and grab for the rope... and he heaved, clearing his chest free of the stakes again... but it hurt those shoulder muscles, arcing a pain like electric down to the wound on his arm, forcing his neck closer to the prop... gotten that wrong and he was tempted to let go straight away... and the doc's painted face was in his, screeching at him, angry with him... and jeez, what was his problem?... and out came a knife... to set him loose?... finish him there?... and his right hand was prised open... course he had to let go then... and he collapsed back on the stakes harder than ever... shit! But Voodooman hadn't finished with him... and his fingers were forced back... and... he didn't feel it at first... Shit! Shit! Shit! The little guy had sliced open the palm of his hand... shit... and the pain made him twitch, yanking at all four ropes... And seconds... everything went grey... before he saw the Unseeing again... and jeez, he was lucky the stakes weren't cutting skin now... but that wouldn't be long... and he shut his eyes against the smoke, against the stinging tears in his eyes... against the Unseeing, Uncaring face...

McAdam...

How ya doing, soldier? He wanted to say that, to ask... and suddenly it was the most important thing in the world to do. He shifted his head, fought whatever even that slight movement was doing to his body... each stake, twisting into flesh.

"Hey!" Nothing but a croak.

But he guessed it sounded right... because something like 'sir' came back at him... he guessed he meant 'hang in there'... and he stifled the laugh at his unintended joke...

But he hardly dared breath... breaths as gravelly moans caught in his throat... too much breathing... too much movement... too much searing pain on his outstretched skin... and since when had breathing killed anyone?... and he stopped another laugh... how long?... how long could he keep this up?... how long, Lorne? Come on... come on... what's taking you so damn long...?

Each breath... how long... how long... come on... come on... a sort of song in his head... waiting... cheerleaders cheering him on... how long... come on... he was losing it... getting delirious... nausea stuck in his throat... he couldn't sing even if he wanted to... yeah, delirious.

And the ropes scorched, unravelled and slipped again... no!

And he threw open his eyes alarmed... nearly his full weight on the stakes now... the rope at his right ankle must have slipped the most... but with his body lowered down, his arms were tensioned even tighter... forcing his neck back further... a ring of slicing agony round his head... and he squeezed his eyes shut again to drive out the torture...

And he couldn't even swallow... the humiliation of spit dribbling down his chin...

Fresh load of hurt at his groin now... hell, what didn't hurt...? His body was merging into a mass of hot aching throbbing... no, his chest hurt the most... definitely his chest... what was this? Some sort of competition his body had signed up for?... yeah... it was his chest that hurt the most... he was sure that particular stake was raised slightly higher... the pain... the heat from the fires... muddled thoughts... remembering... Sumner... begging for death... no... no... Sheppard wouldn't do that... wouldn't ever beg... for that... help coming... help coming... it's just... it's just... lack of oxygen... thoughts not right... not going to die here... not going to die here for the benefit of some carved stone... Sumner... Sumner... his chest... the feeding wound... begging... begging for death... and he could understand that... no, no... but it'd been Sheppard who'd killed the guy, so he could understand it... the chest... he'd killed the Wraith Queen that way... through the chest... 'That's so got to kill you!'

And suddenly, McAdam... yelling... then... just as suddenly quiet...

No... no... no... and Sheppard's chest was knotted with a different tension... no... no... and he forced open his eyes... and that was harder this time... but what the hell was happening?... he'd just got to see... let me see... damn you... let me see... smoke... natives crowding... a low, low sound... they were making a low sound like a low, low wind... let me see... an answer to a prayer?... and they removed the neck prop... and his head lolled forward... and he blacked out...

His head pulled back again... groaning... and they were showering him with blue dust again... and the world swirled and made no sense... and in the middle of the world that made no sense sat the stony faced Unseeing... and a hand came near his face... and pushed something warm and wet against his lips... feeding him?... and he was just so thirsty... but his throat muscles wouldn't work... whatever it was, just dribbled down his chin... too woozy to react... but at least he was too woozy to register pain... he knew that much... McAdam... where?... remembered he was supposed to look out for McAdam... he squinted through the smoke... and the native who held his head... seemed to understand that he wanted to see and relaxed his hold slightly...

And at the foot of the Unseeing, they were carving, slicing hunks out of McAdam's body and...

He spat then... convulsed... stomach muscles protesting... scraping, cutting his belly on one of the stakes... and the native released his head... and all the motion pulled at the ropes, snapping his left arm and leg free... and his body slumped to one side... and he gasped out what should have been a scream as the whole weight of his left side, hung suspended on the stakes... he instinctively reached to the front stake with his freed hand... no one tried to stop him... as he tried to push away... to lift... to grip a stake to lift his body away... but too weak... too weak... and it hurt... his arm dropped with the effort... swinging, useless, adding to the deadweight of his body... and he cried out... weak... as the first stake punctured skin through into his groin...

And brown hands put back the neck prop and now Sheppard had... he really had no idea where the pain was coming from... all over... all over... pinned by a triangle of pain... radiating out pain like never before... the stake now penetrating his left hip... his wounded arm still pulled tight by the rope... and another stake pressing hard against his ribs as the weight of his dropped left hand pulled down... pushing between his ribs... slowly gouging out the flesh there... cutting breaths in his lung and throat... trembling... and he mustn't breath... held his breath... let it out slow... with a mewling cry... he mustn't breath since every breath seemed to ram him down, pack him down, onto the stakes...

Why don't they just end this?... no... no... no... no... Sumner again... but he wasn't Sumner... no... he wasn't Sumner... and... there was no one here... no one here to even do that for him... no... no... that's not the way... not the John Sheppard way... would he have done that for McAdam?... yeah... he would have... never easy... never an easy decision... but yeah... he'd do it again... been better though... been... better... if McAdam had never been butcher's meat in the first place... been better that he went first though... guessed McAdam was heavier built... good that McAdam didn't have to see what he'd had to see... didn't have to feel what he'd had to feel at his lips... and he felt sick again... and the ring of fire at his neck throbbed into his head again... and then... and then... low... low... clicking... clicking again...

And he saw the Wraith Queen who had fed on Sumner again... and this time she had the stunner... this time, it was she who plunged its point into Sheppard's heart... and the rope at his right leg gave way... and his body sagged further... and two more stakes pierced the skin on his torso...

no more... please, no more...

-oAo-


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"A clearing's coming up. Looks like we can get in close, sir."

"I see it," said Lorne grimly, as he pulled over the cloaked jumper to veer a little more to port side.

"Some two dozen or so life signs," confirmed his co-pilot, "and no guards posted outside. Guess they weren't expecting two spacecraft to come at them from the sky."

Two signals were beeping away in one corner of the HUD. The subcut transmitters of McAdam and the Colonel. But it meant nothing. Transmitters were useful to locate personnel but sometimes they were nothing more than an indication of how many body bags to pack.

Lorne drew a tight circle over the area immediately above tree level for a quick reccie knowing that Jumper Two would follow suit. He and his co peered out of their respective windows.

"I dunno... can you make anything out?"

"No, sir. Too much smoke... Some sort of ceremonial ground?"

"Crap," said Lorne low. This didn't feel good and Lorne, pushing back on that second wave of pessimism that had hit him, opened up the radio comms to Jumper Two.

"Move in! North and south. Like we said. Over."

"Yeah, over and out, Major."

And, holding the jumper steady, he yelled to the marines in the back. "Masks on, and get the hatch open!"

He heard the scramble of boots and equipment and felt the blast of fresh air as the door opened,

_Well, deep breath, Evan, it ain't going to last long... _

He pulled his own mask down over his face as the first tear gas canisters were lobbed out of the rear of the jumper, trailing off plumes of smoke as they fell amongst the tribesmen below.

The jumper landed with a soft bump and marines were leaping out before it'd even touched ground. Lorne was out of his seat in an instant, beckoning to Keller and the medic, to follow. She nodded anxiously through the perspex of her mask. If Sheppard and McAdam were ok, they'd need medical attention for the side effects of the gas alone.

_If_ Sheppard and McAdam were ok...

Once on the ground, he found himself dodging the flailing, coughing, spluttering natives, some curled on the ground, others blindly wandering around, clutching at their streaming faces. All no longer a danger to anyone. He checked that Jumper Two had landed, not easy through all the smoke, just making out its occupants spilling out of their own craft, quickly setting up the perimeter beyond a ring of stones, in case re-enforcements did show themselves. Jumper One's men were speedily disarming the natives, throwing spears, bows and knives into one grand heap.

Where...?

His eyes scanned for signs of the missing pair. His visor huffing over. Smoke from small fires. The tear gas clearing. A monument. An area immediately in front with a group of stakes standing at chest height. Ronon and a couple of marines, appearing as ghosts to one side of...

And his stomach clenched.

Sheppard suspended on top of his own set of stakes, limbs hanging loose, except for one arm, still strung up to a corner post. He'd been spread-eagled out, held by ropes that burnt over the fires and now, collapsed on points some two inches in diameter, totally unable to escape, pinned to this hell...

His mouth tightened. He could turn his P90 on these guys but that was military training too... to fight that. The natives couldn't help it. They weren't to be touched.

Stunned too, for a moment, Keller and her medic were now passing him, having assessed the situation and seeing the urgent need to move fast.

At least, Colonel Sheppard was moving slightly. He wasn't dead, though they'd stripped him, the bastards. And judging by the amount blood everywhere, he was probably in shock and out of it. Maybe that was a blessing.

"Oxygen!" yelled the doc to the medic sending him scurrying back to the jumper.

"I can't bag him. Too much smoke and gas," she explained from down on the ground, unzipping her bag. "Need a stretcher. Blankets too." Calm, professional but with an edge to her voice. The area was still being secured, getting the natives rounded up and all sitting down in one group, so Lorne found he was spare man. He ran back to the jumper meeting the medic on his return trip, and desperately started hauling out the stuff they needed, thanking the fact that Rodney had radioed in just before they arrived to say the Gate was now operative. They could have McAdam and Sheppard back to Atlantis in around five minutes. They had to have some luck. Perhaps, it'd hold a while longer yet.

But where was McAdam? As, Lorne jogged back with his arms full, he noticed again the other set of stakes – all bloodstained...

Ronon was now holding up Sheppard's head and the medic had gotten an oxygen mask over his face. His half-moaning mixed with spasms of coughing against the tear gas. His face screwed up, wet with tears. He was trembling, sweating buckets. Blue paint, blood and grime smeared all over his skin.

A marine supported both his legs in an attempt to keep his weight off those stakes. Another marine held an arm, as well as an IV pack now feeding into a vein. The doc still down on the ground, had wriggled her body between two of the stakes, pushing at a wad of bandages around the stake at Sheppard's shoulder, peering at odd times to examine the other entry points along the length of his body, her voice soft and muffled by her mask, coaxing him, soothing him, trying to persuade him not to move, reassuring him everything was going to be ok. Multi-tasking big time. The medic was snipping at the remnants of the rope at the right wrist, and then began applying a dressing to a cut to the Colonel's hand.

"Any idea where...?" And Lorne caught Ronon's eye and Ronon simply flicked a look to the area behind him. A marine had lifted his mask and was puking his guts out close by. Another couple were trying to make sense of a grisly bloody mess at the foot of the statue. Lorne fought his own stomach heaving.

Years of military training and he didn't think he could still be shocked.

"Then... he had to watch...? Jeez..." And Ronon, squinted under his mask, and nodded.

Keller poked her head out from her place below Sheppard's body.

"Major? You don't happen to have a saw or bolt cutters in the jumper?" she asked, pushing her mask up over her hair.

He must have blanched. And she must have read him and knew he was thinking amputation.

"It's ok. Nothing drastic. None of the timbers have penetrated too deeply – yet - and we can lift him off easily enough. And we do need to be quick about it. But the stake at his shoulder's too close to an artery. It's got to go with him – I daren't risk a bleed out."

He'd whipped off his own mask – as had others – there was little need for them now - and was running back to the jumper, yelling "bolt cutters or saw?" over his shoulder.

"Bolt cutters wouldn't jerk him so much! If you think they'll cut through!"

He was back again, raising odd looks from his marines standing about with little to do except giving one of their prisoners an occasional poke with a P90. Word had got round about McAdam. And they could see Sheppard. Morale had plummeted.

The doc guided him to the best place to make the cut, six inches away from Sheppard and Ronon manoeuvred himself into position to steady Sheppard's shoulder as Lorne used the tool.

He held his breath sure that Sheppard would react badly – he was still semi-conscious – the cutters splintered the wood with a loud crack – making Sheppard gasp and Lorne could sense the added tension running through his whole body. Why didn't the guy just pass out?

"Let's move, now!" ordered Keller, having checked the position of the stretcher. And Lorne moved in to help with one of Sheppard's legs. "One quick easy heave-ho, huh?" Okaying that with Lorne. And he nodded. Understanding that even the five minutes back to the Gate might be too long.

With six of them, Sheppard was lifted free. He yelled into his mask this time. His eyes rolled and he went limp instantly. Not a problem now to turn him over and lay him gently down to the stretcher, ensuring that oxygen and IV wires didn't tangle up in the move. The medic and Keller were down and deftly applying dressings.

They then threw over a blanket, tucked the oxygen cylinder between Sheppard's legs and started strapping up their bags. "Right. Go! Go!"

And no one questioned Ronon who took one end of the stretcher though he'd only just healed himself. The doc didn't argue with him. She'd expected it. With bloodied gloves, she pushed back hair that had worked loose, as Lorne and a marine lifted the front end.

"Just get him home safe," she said.

-oAo-

"Oh, a visitor! A surprise!" she purred, "and I thought you had forgotten me! Been doing all nice alliance things, have you?"

The Queen remained on her bed, scarcely stirring. He had been informed by the guards that she'd done little else but remain in her bed for the past two days. She had lost all care about her appearance. Her hair hung limp, matted, dishevelled and it was not difficult to perceive that she had slept in her gown.

"They are killing you, can you not see that?" And he speculated for a moment that he might have read this wrong, that perhaps _the Queen_ was the intended victim? That she had been lured to the planet to lay the curse upon her? No. He was correct with his former appraisal. Hatred. A deep, dark hatred lay so entrapped in her heart and this needed release... this needed someone to be... dead.

She sat herself up, pulling close the covers to conceal her semi-nakedness, clumsily attempting – and failing - to adjust the strap of her gown at her shoulder. At least, she had some remnants of decency and decorum of her station.

"Oh, Todd ash Luyten! The other Queens have been discussing me, haven't they! How quaint! I find myself somewhat touched by their concern."

"You flatter yourself. Their concern is not for you."

"No... No... Of course not." And she lay back hard against the pillows and closed her eyes. Rejected? Resignation? "Continue," she said in bored tones, "tell me, how I've been a bad, bad, bad Wraith."

"The Forfallen control you. You have become a weak link."

Her eyes sprung open, a flash of fear there that was gone in an instant. "You have been sent as my executioner? No, for you need to know a name. Then there is less of a reason to reveal it, is there not? To do so, would signify my end."

"I can promise you life if you tell us," he said stiffly.

She swung her legs off the bed, and clutching the covers to her throat, she advanced on him, with some of her old regality.

"It is not _I_ who am the weak link, it is they! All of them!" she hissed, sending an echo round the black vaulted arches of her chamber. "It is all of them, for investing this power in... you!" and she raised a hand pointing at him with one long gnarled finger. "They dare to call themselves true Queens! Sending you to bargain with me! They fear me! It is they who deserve to have their throats cut while they sleep! Is this not how it has been planned for me!"

And he turned away. Exactly so.

"Cowards all of you! Cowards! Cowards! Cowards!"

And it would have been remarkable if the other Queens in their individual hives did not hear her invective through space.

"We cannot allow the Forfallen to interfere with one of our kind," he persisted, though he realised it was impossible, however, that she would ever see reason. "We cannot have Forfallen exerting this degree of influence-"

"Forfallen influence! And what of yours, Todd ash Luyten? Is it not infinitely more dangerous to the Wraith way? This folly of acceptance as a male as leader – _you_ as leader!"

"We need a name," he said simply, to change the subject to the purpose of his visit.

She came up closer still. And he continued to study the far wall. Standing to attention almost. Shutting his mind, feeling her probe his, knowing it was the Forfallen who sought to read him.

"Ah, the legend... If a victim can kill the Forfallen, before they themselves are killed, then the Forfallen are lost forever. But, Todd ash Luyten, it is all it is, a legend. A mere legend. You are getting so desperate perhaps as to believe in legends?"

"If you do not believe it, then you need not fear giving me the name."

And she smiled and walked back to the bed, slumping down, snuggling back into the pillows.

"Oh, I never fear you." It was the Forfallen speaking to him.

"Give me the name," he warned as he approached the bed.

"What? Are you going to beat it out of me again? I have told you, and you have discovered this for yourself, they will not allow it."

Truth in the legend then? That they protect themselves this way.

"Give me the name," he growled, his nostrils flaring in simmering anger.

"No!" Her voice trembling in the hiss as his hand went to her temple. She tried to pull at it. "You can't. You know that... you failed the last time..." Her voice was now a whimper, like the plea of a human begging to be spared, she had sunk so low. And like a human, he granted her no mercy.

Soft now... soft... this is the way to approach... they are not ready... they do not see him... he has covered his tracks... they have not seen his many hours of practice... of meditation... with his hand upon the Queen's temple, he finds their Trochlor lines that take him straight to their mountain... backdoor... covet... they do not sense him...

It was so good... so good... oh but... perhaps... bad... so very bad... giddiness and Ef Xo nearly fainted.

_Ab Su, you have surpassed yourself, _clicked Ef Xo, squirming on the floor with the residual pleasure shared by her sisters

_She should have finished it! _Put in the disgruntled Bi Lu. _ It is not complete! Why is it us that is tortured thus?_

_Oh, tshht! Can you not feel how SHE weakens as well as he? _Clicked Ga Hi. Well, sometimes, Ga Hi had some sense somewhere around those uscular glands. _And desserts always follows soups and meats! Tee hee._

_Perhaps I am alone in this._ And Bi Lu steadied herself to climb to her feet, accusing in demeanour as well as tone._ But surely it has not gone unnoticed that our 'spy' continues to grow strong and his persistence increases. The longer we are engaged in this work, the more risk we run at being discovered._

_He can do nothing to us! _Clicked Ab Su, standing to first six, and then two back legs, drawing in the last of her prepared incense, dragging a claw across the slobber at her mandible. It was important for her now to go to the pool, limping because of her enlarged abdomen, a result of all the excitement, to verify that she had actually not killed the human prematurely, that he might recover after a timely interval, prepared for the next... attack.

_I shall deal with the Commander all in good time,_ warned Ef Xo, watching her favourite's visage lighten at the pool edge. _Well?_

_He does, in fact, live still. Their curative powers are somewhat primitive but they will suffice. He struggles to breathe though the bleeding has ceased but, oh dear, I fear he will scar so._

And Ga Hi giggled again.

_Emotionally and physically so?_

_Oh, both, yes, indeed._

_Have I not said this was excellent? Perhaps, Bi Lu, rather than criticise, you could prepare the next... entertainment?_

Bi Lu crouched on all sixes, a slight ominous rattling of her wings under her cloak, a spark of an evil glint in all of her eyes. _You trust me, O First?_

And no, perhaps not.

_I trust your intelligence to provide a good show, _and Ef Xo bowed her head in true deference to her arch rival.

_Ah... what is this?_

Todd ash Luyten dropped his hand, exhausted, and staggered back from the bed, breaking the link only seconds before his detection.

"Oh, he lives still!" mocked the Queen. "Oh, there is still time! Oh, you can save him! Before he suffers ultimate death!"

But... Todd ash Luyten still had no name.

-oAo-

John. John. John.

And Sumner was there... begging him... begging him... and he fired... and it wasn't Sumner... it was McAdam... and he fired... and McAdam's flesh was sliced and offered to him... and he was choking on blood and bone... and then it wasn't McAdam... it was him... him... slices cut from his arms, his back as he struggled tied to the four posts... and he couldn't escape... and there, a clicking noise deep in his skull...

John. John.

And they were tearing at his skin... couldn't breath... couldn't breath... would never breath again... and then... it wasn't the half clad natives dancing in the smoke... it was Wraith...Wraith walking... walking forever in Hive corridors... and in every corridor were cocoons... and in every cocoon was a giant Iratus Bug... like the ones Michael had conjured up... and Sheppard had woken them... and they were going to feed on the flesh of everyone in the Pegasus... and they were chasing him... and he rounded a corner... a Wraith Queen... who drove her spear, that rattled with bones, deep into his chest... 'that has to kill you'... he breathed then... he breathed well and good... he breathed so well and good, he damn well screamed...

John! John!

And he woke.

And lights glared. And he blinked. The infirmary. And he laid his head back against the pillow. Relief didn't come close.

"You... ok?" Jenny asked, her eyes scanning his face, knowing he wasn't.

"Yeah... yeah... ok..." And he still croaked when he talked sometimes. And all Ronon had said was: "Bruised larynx, yeah, been there." But Ronon's eyes said something different and he'd glanced away.

And Rodney had said that perhaps things happen in fours now. So they could all breathe easy because the bad luck must be all over by now.

And then they'd told him that McAdam's body had been shipped home. And he'd been out of it and missed the Gate ceremony... so not ok... never ok...

"You had another nightmare."

"I'm ok." Like a mantra convincing himself. He was breathing hard – as if he'd been screaming – had he? He was aware of sweating, of bedclothes untidy at his waist, of a throbbing pain in his shoulder.

"You were thrashing about there, Colonel. I want to check this," and she was switching on the lamp above his head, "you might have pulled the stitches. _Again_."

He peered down at his shoulder, the last and worst of his puncture wounds to heal. He would have been out of the infirmary days ago if it hadn't been for that one.

"Now?" And he pulled a face.

"Ye-es. Now," she sung.

"You told me I should rest." It was the middle of the night.

"You can rest all you like when I'm done," said Jenny, raising the back of the bed

He leaned forward and let her help him free his arm out of the shrubs, feeling awkward as he always did to undress in front of the medical staff. And it still embarrassed him that he'd been rescued naked. But Ronon hadn't mentioned it. Rodney hadn't smirked. Then, Sheppard had to believe Teyla when she said they were just glad he was home safe – but to hear her say stuff like that was... embarrassing too.

Jenny pushed his top over to one side, making clucking noises. "See!" he looked down at the speck of red there on the dressing. "Reckon I'm gonna have to tie you down-" and she reddened. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that..." And she lifted the dressing and he winced and ouched. "Sorry again. That little bastard just doesn't want to heal. I'll go and get my things."

He shivered in the cooler night air of the infirmary, listening to the three other patients, unsettled in their sleep. Yeah, it was probably him who'd disturbed them. He hated being here, being fussed over, being reminded... that he had no... control. Hell, he was flesh and blood just like any other guy... weak like any other guy. You had to be reminded, now and then, he guessed. And he was grateful he was safe. Though... McAdam hadn't got that luxury. And for a split second, as Jenny walked back to his bed, he pictured two caskets under a flag at a Gate ceremony. He couldn't ever get over it how it'd been that close... that close weeks ago when that could have been Rodney... that close when it could have been Ronon or Teyla on a funeral pyre. He could work out how to take a Wraith stronghold, but he had no control over any of the events of these last few weeks.

Jenny sat her box of tricks down on the bed beside him and pulled on gloves.

"You know, you're going to have to do something more positive about that."

"What?"

She bent down, studying his shoulder, gently pulling at the edges of the tape that held on the dressing.

He winced. Yeah, flesh and blood.

"Your nightmares. Sessions with Dr Cornwell not helping?"

The Atlantis psychiatrist. He looked at her but didn't reply. More than anything, more than anyone, more than anyone could ever know, he'd like the nightmares to stop too. The daymares too, come to think of it.

And she looked at him, considering. Pity in her eyes. She'd seen the autopsy report on McAdam. She knew what he had seen there on that planet. "No, probably not." And she continued to gently tug at the dressing, removing it.

"I'll get over it," he assured her, biting his lip because the stuff she was dabbing on now was ice cutting cold.

"Like all wounds, huh?" And she sounded sarcastic as she got the needle ready and he'd glanced at that and wished he hadn't and turned away, suddenly finding the ceiling a pretty interesting place.

"Just a couple of stitches here," she narrowed a brow, concentrating. "Why have you men always got to be so... I dunno... manly? Did I just say manly? No, I meant damned frustrating. You keep waking up my other patients and it's kinda scary."

"Well, if you discharged me like I wanted, I wouldn't-"

"And you'd be back here in the blink of an eye, needing even more stitches," she said, dabbing at his wound again.

"I promise, I won't. And if I'm not lying in bed _resting, all day and night,_" he emphasized, "I wouldn't have the nightmares either."

"Now that's crazy logic," she figured, applying a new dressing.

"That's because, I'm going crazy here. There's only so many computer games a guy can play-"

"I'll have that last comment in writing please!"

But he needed to get out of here. Lying here, healing, he'd been given too much time to think...

"Aw, come on, Doc. You know I'm right. Let me go. I'll just sit around and catch up on paperwork. Promise. "

She stood. "Can I trust you?"

"Sure you can!" And he smiled at her. That ought to do the trick. And he knew the smile was just to lighten things up, cover things up. Blank his own mind. Do anything but talk about McAdam.

And she smiled back, relenting.

"In the morning, you're outta here." And he could nearly do the fist victory thing if his shoulder didn't smart so much.

-oAo-

Illum runs further now. Further into the depths of the ship. There are no Wraith here. He's alone. And when he runs too far, when that time comes that his wounded arm, aches with heaviness, he stops to gain breath, sliding his back down the walls, to sit on the floor, until he's lost in the swirling mists.

There are no noises here. Save his own breathing, that slows. Huffs of his breath join the mists. He even blows into them to watch the patterns curl, enjoying the coolness of the air against the heat of his skin. He is alone here and sometimes it is good to be apart from the Wraith. They are not his kind.

His wrists rest on his drawn-up knees and though the light is poor, he stares at the paleness of his palms. The Wraith are not his kind. His hands are free of the open gash that the Wraith possess on their right palms. He cannot understand why it has taken him this long to notice this part of them. He cannot fathom out what appears to be an identical wound on each and every one of them. But he recalls that his Master, always seems to keep his right arm hidden in the folds of his coat. As if... as if his Master is afraid it will alarm Illum. His Master is thoughtful, considerate for him always.

Illum is certain the other Wraith do not like him, however. They scowl and glare and even hiss at him. Sometimes, they talk of his Master. They do not know that Illum wanders through the ship and hears their conversations that echo through the corridors. They laugh at his Master and call him 'human lover.' Though others are fiercely loyal. Sometimes there are arguments, fights between the two factions. And his Master struggles to keep order. Illum believes it is his presence that is the cause of the conflict.

Why has his Master brought him to the ship if this is the case?

They are not his kind. They do not even possess names to call one another.

'You have no names?' he asks.

'We have no need of them,' his Master replies. 'We know of one another and who we are, our position, our purpose, without the need for names.'

'I have a name,' Illum says simply. Does that mean he has no purpose and no position that he needs a name to remind him of that fact?

'Yes, and it means, friend, steadfast as the light from the distant star.'

'It is a short name to mean so much.'

And his Master breaths a laugh.

They are not his kind. There are no wives and children. There is no... love. What drives them to hold together in this fraternity? What is their bond? To seek out food and territory? They are at war? And it occurs to Illum suddenly, as he sits alone on the floor, that he has explored all the permitted areas of the ship now, but has never encountered the place where they eat? Not in their own chambers? For it is only his Master who has the luxury of this allocated space. And he shrugs. It is not important but simply strange.

He is alone and listens. Creaks and groans of the fibres of the corridor around him. The stresses of space upon the ship's hull. This he knows and it does not worry him. Why? Why his ready acceptance of travel through the stars when he was once a farmer?

Suddenly, a different noise that he cannot place. He listens to that also. Uncertain if he did actually hear something. He tries to understand it. Shuffles on his backside. It's coming from beneath him?

Beneath him is the forbidden level.

He instantly moves forward, and hesitates – what if his Master is watching him now? But he places his ear closer to the floor. And listens again.

Muffled voices. Though strong as in anger. Orders and commands. The Wraith, and many of them, are moving down there.

A scream. A piercing scream. The scream of another human.

"Illum! Illum! Where are you, Illum! Why did you leave me? Illum!"

-oAo-


	8. Chapter 8

A/N. I don't know why, but this is my favourite chapter... please be kind... ;-)

* * *

Chapter Eight

"Hmm... Colonel?" and Woolsey, meeting Sheppard in the corridor, passing him by lost in thought, not even seeing Sheppard's nod, did a double take, stopping dead in his tracks turning several feet further on.

"Woolsey?" Sheppard spun round to face him – too fast - and didn't wince, wasn't going to let that show, though heck, he'd got to mind sudden movements like that.

"Dr Keller has released you... already?"

"Here I am," and he held out his arms. Again trying not to let the pull on his stitches show.

"You think that was... prudent? Not that I'm going to question her professionalism but it feels like the ink is hardly dry on my final reports on M16 R7X."

Yeah, he guessed the guy would make sure he had everything in triplicate and get it leather-bound and that'd take a while.

"I'm let out on good behaviour. She does that sometimes. No off-worlding. Just take it easy."

"I wasn't informed."

"She said she'd pass it on."

"Preoccupied with other concerns, no doubt. You will continue to visit Dr Cornwell?"

And suddenly, Sheppard didn't feel quite so light-hearted about being set free.

"Yeah, yeah, I will." Why couldn't he convince people, just this once, that he was going to be a good boy and see Pat Cornwell, that he really didn't need the bad dreams?

Woolsey turned to go and then added, "but you're in jogging..." the man just couldn't bring himself to say, 'pants'. "_Apparel."_

Heck, the guy had got a suspicious mind. "Laundry still down, remember? All I have to wear." And theses were ideal for loafing around in anyhow.

"Isn't that seen to yet? I asked engineering. It's still happening, you know. Everything is still malfunctioning. "

"Yeah, we're jinxed," joined in Rodney with no real conviction, who'd come whirring along the corridor, head down to his laptop. And then, came to an abrupt halt, addressing Sheppard, as if surprised to see Sheppard still standing in the corridor, "you coming, or not?"

"Sure," and he sauntered off after Rodney.

"Excuse me, but I was under the impression, he was to not undertake duties," called out Woolsey after them.

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah," and Rodney, waved a hand at him, still not looking up from his laptop. "I know. I have the cotton wool. Wrap him up like a baby. No one told him yet that you're invincible." And Sheppard pulled a face.

They entered a lab one level up and Rodney stood at the door beaming.

"There it is. Daedalus delivered it while you were lazing around in the infirmary." And he immediately started stabbing away at his laptop again, taking it over to a console and plugging it in.

"A stasis pod?" Except it was horizontal. Like a casket. With a glass lid but a casket all the same. And Sheppard wasn't exactly into caskets at that moment... not even, ever...

"No. You remember the Aurora? And the pod they put that Replicator in back on Earth? And when... you know... that time... when we... um... um... were in one another's dreams?" and he appeared uncomfortable with that particular memory, but it must have vanished immediately as he brightened again. "Well, all this stems from that technology. This is our very own Star Trek holograph deck," he proudly announced. "For training purposes only, of course. But the possibilities..." and he was very nearly licking his lips in anticipation, certainly rubbing his hands together and whoever said Rodney couldn't do optimism was a liar.

He flicked a button on the console, and the transparent lid slowly curled open, revealing a thin cushioned mattress and a foam pillow.

"In you go, then!" And he made ushering gestures with his hands.

Sheppard put his hands on his hips, scrunching up his face. "I dunno, Rodney..."

"What? What? You dunno what? Oh noooo! You're not going to back out?" Disappointed more than calling him chicken.

"No-oo."

"It's been tested."

"Then why do I need to test it again?"

"I just wanted to make sure it worked with our equipment and... I thought you'd want to be first." His face was falling by the second. "And Jenny said you were bored and this way you get to go off world without even moving - But it's safe if that's what you're worried about and I know there's all this stuff about us being jinxed-"

"It's still raining and the laundry's down."

"Look, there's so many fail safes in place, they're practically tripping over one another to keep... you... _safe_, and Carson's coming along shortly to see to the um... um... medical side of things." Carson was having another short tour of duty on Atlantis. "Nothing could go wrong."

"The Gate failed, when you always said the Gate couldn't fail," reminded Sheppard.

"I got it put right!"

"Eventually."

"So that's a 'no'?" snapped Rodney, prickly at what he thought was criticism. "I didn't ever think you'd ever back out of anything but ok, ok, I'll go and find some gorilla from one of Lorne's men."

"Hey!" And Sheppard threw the scientist a look because no one should be so disrespectful of marines.

He stooped to peer into the pod, admitting to a peak of interest. "So... how does it work exactly?"

"Like a flight simulator. With some kind of thought auto-suggestion-"

"Hypnotism?" He interrupted, straightening.

"No, no, well... not quite, more like, dreaming."

Then... nightmares too.

"Though there's um... free will in there somewhere," Rodney said absently, as if it wasn't that important.

"So I can make things up?" He was suddenly taking to the idea. After all, Rodney had said it was like the Star Trek holograph deck.

"What? No! There are no functions to think up hot women!"

"Really, Rodney, as if..." and he shrugged innocently.

"There are... there are certain limitations..." Rodney was getting all flustered and Sheppard wasn't helping any by smirking. "And... and I am certain that... that's one of them... so... so to continue... There's several scenarios. With options to adapt them. I thought we'd go for..." and he checked out titles on his console screen. "Hmmm... what about 'how to meet and greet local peoples.' That sounds innocuous enough... and how you react determines what happens next. Like those kiddies' books - you choose A, B or C and then D, E or F follow. It all links up with your own perceived experience, or, because this is training, _lack_ of experience by filling in the gaps, so this shouldn't be a problem to you... with no gaps... no lack of training... so to speak. Everything should go perfectly. Want a hand in?"

Sheppard declined the help with a look and hitched up onto the bed, flinching slightly. And then swung up his legs. Flinching again. He really didn't want to pull those stitches.

"Sorry, should have got you a stool."

"I'm fine, Rodney," hating it that Rodney was treating him like an invalid. He lay down, wriggling, got his neck all snug and comfy on the pillow and resting his hands across his stomach, he closed his eyes.

"No... um... no..." And Sheppard opened his eyes and Rodney was flicking a finger at him, obviously embarrassed with any reference to close physical stuff, unable to meet his look.

"What?"

"Arms at your sides. We have to attach wires and things. Won't function otherwise? And this is still being monitored for research."

"You said it'd been tested?"

"Yeah, rats."

"Rodney!"

"Oh, you'll be fine," waving a hand at him, continuing to work at the console, dismissing any objections Sheppard might make.

Carson suddenly came rushing in. "Hi, sorry I'm late," putting down his bag and hurrying over.

"Colonel Sheppard? Are you sure this is wise?"

"I'll be fine. I've just had it from the best possible source that I'll be fine," and he looked significantly at Rodney. Who ignored him.

"Ok..." Carson's tone, however, showed he wasn't too sure. "Well, let's get you prepped up then. Though I thought the whole idea of leaving the infirmary was to get out of bed?" He was at the side of pod, soon connecting up wires, lifting Sheppard's tee to tape down a few contact pads across his chest. Rodney then handed Carson some sort of strap linked to yet more wires, "ah, the magical piece," that he wrapped round Sheppard's forehead.

And yeah, it was beginning to feel like he was back in the infirmary.

Rodney shoved some sort of remote into his hand, "your manual override, if anything goes wrong and we can't get the lid open. See! We've thought of everything. Any questions?"

Why did he even need a remote? Hadn't Rodney just said, nothing would go wrong?

"Yeah, why does the lid have to be down?" because, looking up at it, just looking at it, felt claustrophobic.

And like a casket.

"Atmospheric conditions," explained Rodney, "to create the sensation that if you're in a desert, it does actually feel hot and like a desert."

"You're sending me to a desert?"

"No. I've typed in temperate-"

"So you get to choose? And I don't?"

"I thought you'd like temperate?"

"I do but-"

"Will you quit with the questions?"

"You asked if I had any!"

"Hey, hey, hey, boys! Boys!" scolded Carson, with his best school teacher ticking off, looking up from his monitor, and changing his tone instantly, he flashed a smile, "are we all set now? Just close your eyes and happy dreams, eh?"

"Oh, and one other thing," said Rodney, as an afterthought, peering under the glass rim, into the ever diminishing gap as the lid slowly closed over. "If you ever want to stop the programme, not that you will - this only lasts all of twelve minutes - though that's our twelve minutes - time dilation field working here - just think, 'stop'."

"Stop?" Well, for a failsafe code, that was... succinct. "Glad you thought to say, Rodney."

"Not too difficult to remember, huh?"

And Sheppard nodded and repeated "stop," as the lid shut him in.

But, he had another question as the lid clamped shut. What if he couldn't _think_ it?

And the world went quiet and white...

And the team stepped out into the sunshine of a market place, bustling with townsfolk, animals, traders... and... this was nice. Though too much like the market place where Rodney had had his accident but nice. He pulled out his shades from his tac vest, feeling surprised they were there. Or that he was even in uniform... When did...? But he was grateful for his shades all the same.

"So... Teyla, been here before?" Because that's what they always asked her.

Rodney dodged to one side, to avoid two small boys ploughing into him, laughing, chasing a puppy.

"Will you watch!-" and he was checked by a frown from Teyla.

"No, never," Teyla replied, "though this is surprising. They are so like the peoples that the Athosians have traded with and yet nothing is familiar to me."

A toothless pedlar came up carrying a basket of what looked like pastries.

"No food, Rodney," Sheppard warned. Yeah, this was training and he was making use of past experiences.

"Oh, but these are Kosans, like your fortune cookies. They will be harmless and much fun. My father would always buy them as a treat when I was a child," and Teyla pulled out her pouch of coins that always seemed to pass as money on most worlds and dropped four into the gnarled hand of the trader.

"Many thanks and may good fortune be yours always," said the man, handing over four of the curled biscuits wrapped in a leaf.

"Bit late for that," muttered Rodney, nibbling on his. As they all did, enjoying the still warm, freshly baked flavour.

"Hmmm... good... no?" asked Teyla. And suddenly it occurred to Sheppard, he was seeing through a window into a rare happier childhood in her smile.

And Ronon was smirking at her, probably thinking the same thing, coy about eating his own cookie. "How old are you, Teyla?"

"Oh, you are never too old to enjoy Kozan," she enthused, delicately wiping the last crumb from her lip with a finger and eating that last crumb too. She then read out her fortune from the slip of paper that had been folded inside. " 'Things do not always turn out as planned.' Oh dear, not especially promising. Ronon?"

"They're all the same!" said Rodney, disgusted, shoving his into a pocket.

"Yeah.'Things do not always turn out as planned,'" read out Ronon. And Teyla laughed. They all did. And the sunlight caught her hair. And Sheppard couldn't remember ever feeling this happy with all of them. Or so glad they'd pulled round. "You think it was so when I was small? They were all the same? That I was so easily amused?"

"Hey! Mine's different!" said Sheppard, glancing at his, " 'You must... atone... for past sins...'" And he trailed off.

It was like the sun going behind a cloud. Like someone walking over his grave. And they all stopped laughing. Just like that. He even saw Teyla shiver. "It is all childish foolishness, John." And she snatched it out of his hand suddenly and threw it down to the gutter. And he just stood there staring down at the place where he held it and thought, 'stop.' And very nearly said it too.

"Look, mine said, 'You must learn to share,'" owned up Rodney, trying to make them all feel better. "See... they're stupid!"

"You said they were the same," accused Sheppard.

"Well, I lied."

"That's because you don't share," said Ronon. And they walked on into the jostling crowd.

"I do so!"

"When so? Name me an instance," demanded Sheppard

"Name me an instance when I didn't."

"Popcorn."

"Besides that."

"Last of the coffee."

"Besides that!"

"Fiona and Toni MacPherson." Red-headed twins from Technical.

"That doesn't count!" And he stopped dead. "You know they weren't interested in-"

"In what, Rodney?" asked Sheppard with an innocent tone, walking on without him.

"You know they weren't interested in..."

"Yeah. In what Rodney?" repeated Ronon, turning round to ask his question.

They were going to make him spit it out if it was the last thing they did.

And then he spotted them. Over the heads of the other market goers. Soldiers. Three. Armoured breastplates, helmets, standing against an archway of some sort of castle rampart that stood at the end of the market place, some eighty feet away. And his head did its instinctive count of weapons, and his hands did their instinctive tightening on his P90.

"Bandits two o'clock."

"See them," said Ronon.

"See what? See what?" said Rodney, shorter and still thinking about red-heads. And Teyla deliberately placed herself in front of Rodney, ssshing him, before he did anything too obvious... like... show fear...

"Guns. Not exactly backward," whispered Sheppard aside, still carrying on walking, picking his way through all the busyness of market day, and the others following suit.

Ronon squinted. "One's like mine. Two are possibly Genii." They were probably matched in fire power. But if this were to end in a shootout, they'd be far too many innocent bystanders. "Looks like they trade all over?" concluded Ronon. "How come we've never heard of them?"

"They might be visitors as ourselves?" suggested Teyla.

"Find out soon." As they drew nearer. Seemed a bit pointless to turn back now. And he supposed this was the scenario that the programme had in store for them. 'Meet and greet?' Well, they were about to do that alright.

"They don't exactly look friendly," warned Rodney from the back. No. They didn't. Eyes watching them from beneath the helmets. "Think we should turn round and head back? Think they're going to stop us?" From doing what exactly? Because Sheppard suddenly didn't know the point of this mission. A fault in the programme? Usually they visited planets due to unusual energy readings or some indication of Ancient tech but Rodney hadn't said.

"See that!" hissed Rodney. The sun had caught its reflection before one of the soldiers had hastily put it away. A handheld scanner of some sort. An ATA detector? Sheppard was sure of it and he'd been walking right in front.

Crap.

Time now to call 'stop'?

How long had he been here? Perhaps the programme was nearing the finish anyhow? Well, no point in a training programme if he didn't get trained.

So, let's find out what these guys wanted.

The soldiers stepped out blocking their way, weapons raised, pretty much as expected. Another three, suddenly appeared out of nowhere, coming round behind them - pretty much as not expected. Damn, he'd gotten sloppy. And this was going to show up on research reports?

Ronon turned to glower at the reinforcements, fidgeting with his gun but Sheppard put a hand across and pushed the gun down. He pulled off his shades, tucking them away and made his best 'meet and greet' smile - because four against six were still good odds and... these guys couldn't really hurt them, right?

"You have come through the Portal?" They'd probably been watched for some time then. "State your business, strangers."

He hadn't a clue.

"Yeah.'Course." Still fixing his smile there. "Rodney?" he asked out of the side of his mouth. Because Rodney should know surely.

"Who? Me?" Perhaps not then. No point asking Ronon. He was still grinding his teeth because he hadn't been allowed to play with his gun.

"We are traders," offered Teyla, also smiling, though sweetly.

Oh, that old story.

The leader guy, the one with the shiniest breastplate of them all, peered around them.

"Don't see any goods."

"That's because we offer... services. Usually medical," continued Teyla with her speel.

"You don't look like doctors either," summed up the guy with a sniff, turning far too much of his attention back to their weapons.

"We are representatives of our people. Always looking for new alliances of friendship. Perhaps we could meet your leader? Is his residence there?" inquired Teyla, inclining her head towards the castle. "Perhaps you could arrange a meeting, some discussions for us?"

Crap, though, did Sheppard so hate these kind of missions, when they were ambassadors. Safer yes, but he was bored already. The infirmary might have been preferable. No wonder Rodney hadn't filled him in - he knew Sheppard would've flat out refused. He was damn well going to call 'stop' right now-

"I'm only a soldier," and had no clout, said the 'Only-a-Soldier-But-I'm-Clearly-in-Charge.'

"Like, yeah, one with an ATA detector," muttered Rodney from his place behind the other three. Sheppard nudged him hard in the ribs, but yes, he was going to continue with this, a little curious himself why they had that kind of technology.

"Well, you can go and _ask_ someone higher up?" suggested Sheppard, pushing his chin forward slightly, to indicate the castle gate, the Only-a-Soldier might like to go through. This was how the programme worked? That he was actually telling one of the characters what to do next?

The Only-a-Soldier pulled out a radio.

"What?" exclaimed Rodney. And that earned him another elbow in the sides. "Ow!" he pouted, and Sheppard could feel Rodney's reproach bouncing right back him but at least the scientist knew to keep quiet about the weird mix of radio and medieval castles.

The soldier walked over to the wall and spoke into the device in a low voice, so they could pick up nothing.

"Genii allies. Gotta be," said Ronon aside.

"Or _made_ to be," offered Sheppard.

"The townsfolk seem happy enough. There is no evidence of coercion," whispered Teyla.

"Well, who wouldn't be if you thought you were on a winning side," said Rodney, into the shoulders of Sheppard and Ronon.

"You'll come with us," ordered the Only-a-Soldier, shutting down his radio. And since they weren't asked for their weapons, that was ok with Sheppard.

"You and Rodney stay here," he said to Ronon. This was only a programme but he'd better do things by the book. Two to guard and go and fetch help – if needed. "Teyla and I will go in and do the talking." Though, he hoped that it'd be Teyla doing all the negotiating.

"No. Only you," gruffed out the Only-a-Soldier, nodding at Sheppard, touching Teyla's arm to prevent her moving forward.

"John?" Teyla.

"Shit, Sheppard." Ronon.

And all three of his team sharing the same expression that showed they were all genuinely concerned about letting him go off on his own.

"It'll be ok," he assured them, because none of this was real anyway. And he could play along with Rodney's little programme with no harm done.

Four of the guards went through the gate with him. Other guards, on the inside, had already unlocked the enormous padlock and it was clanked shut and re-locked once they'd passed through. His stomach clenched at the sound because... amendment to that previous thought... it was all a little too real.

He glanced back and couldn't see the other three through the iron bars of the gate. Perhaps that part of the programme, that part that contained his team had stopped functioning now it was no longer needed? Perhaps beyond the Gate was now nothing? Lousy graphics then. He'd have to tell Rodney about that.

But it was an odd feeling that one minute his team were there, multi dimensional with all their emotions and actions, and now, there was nothing but white noise. Because that's what he was hearing now... ringing in his ears, clicking, humming, damn it, all three. He thumped a hand against his head to try and clear the sensation, as it was a sensation more than a sound, like getting water in your ear. He ought to get it sorted out when he was done here. He'd heard the clicking before.

For now, he had to pay attention and go along with the pretence.

"Nice place you have here," he said cheerily enough. A deeply shadowed courtyard. Doors leading off. Small turret towers. A low rampart with yet more guards patrolling. Dark grey stonework. Foreboding. Not at all nice really.

"Could do with a few shrubs though. Green the place up a bit." Perhaps he should suggest that to Rodney too.

"So, the name of your leader is...?" he asked, as they marched him to one of the doors.

And no one replied. Now why did that surprise him? Or perhaps that part of the script hadn't been written.

He let out a deep sigh, resigned to playing out this charade, fingers gripping his P90 ever more tightly though, as they stepped over the threshold into the pitch black beyond the heavy wooden frame.

And that's when they took him down.

-oAo-


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The Queen was very feeble now and scarcely moved in her bed. Her form thin and frail beneath the brocaded cover. If it were not for the sounds of her grating breathing, low and scant, lost somewhere in the space behind the black gauzy drapes, he would not have known the Queen was even there. A wraith worshipper had been found to care for her, to wipe and cool her fevered brow. And he dismissed the girl.

But this was... uncomfortable to Todd ash Luyten. He had seen Wraith die of the Hoffan disease and he himself had nearly succumbed to Dr Keller's preparations to turn Wraith into non-human feeders. He knew at first hand what it was to be this weak, to be unable to self-heal - this was all so unnatural to Wraith. A Wraith should not die of disease but in the glory of fighting, sacrificing itself for fellow Wraith, for the good of its Hive. Sacrifice... this Queen, had brought dishonour to herself, to chase this far from selfless aim.

He paced a slow circle at the foot of the bed, talking as he did so.

"They feed upon your soul. Do you not realise that? Your life force is slowly being diminished. Let me attempt to prevent this."

"You... would... help?" Her laugh hoarse and wheezing. "You would help? Because you _care_?"

"What is driving you to this destruction?" And he moved closer to her side. He had ordered cooler air to be pumped into her quarters and occasionally the artificial breeze teased at the curtain's edge. He could make out her face, glistening with perspiration, her features, emphasized by her illness, skin drawn tight over sunken cheeks, suggesting more of the bone beneath the skin, her appearance, more skull-like than ever.

"If I perplex you, Todd ash Luyten, then that is half of my success." And she attempted another laugh but coughed painfully instead, drawing in her shoulders, spitting, turning her head and moaning into her pillow. "It is not as if I am alone in seeking a selfish goal."

He started. She had read his mind? Or the Forfallen through her? He thought he had come into this room prepared. He had taken deep breaths, had checked and closed down thoughts. As slamming doors.

"I..."

"Do not pretend to misunderstand. The two of us, we both know of your ambitions - to rule all Wraith." And she coughed again, her body racked with convulsions.

"You are deluded! It is the fever speaking. I seek only for the safety and security of Wraith. A future for our kind. Everything that I do is guided by that principle-"

"Bah! Leave that talk for the others - those that will believe it!"

"I need that name!" he insisted, raising his voice, "the Forfallen cannot have this power, this control, not over even one of us. It will not end here! They will grow in strength and it will ultimately lead to our downfall!"

"I have heard this all before. You bore me. Now... go away and leave me in peace."

He was aware of her turning in the bed, burrowing, retreating into the comfort of the cover

"Why is this so important to you that you are prepared to die so? Where is your pride?" he asked with a kinder, gentler voice. He would attempt anything to cajole, persuade her.

And he was there... her guard... _their_ guard was down... ah... he had hurt her with mention of pride? And so had cut into some distant memory... it was so easy now?

_A storm swept mountain top. An alcove in the rock face that provided shelter from the wind and rain. Forfallen. And one Wraith guard had accompanied her._

Well, he would be found and questioned and forfeit his life for his part in this.

_The Queen... uneasy to be here, with these... creatures... asking herself, if she had sunk so low? Her resolve was shaken. Doubt had taken hold. Perhaps she should return to her Hive and accomplish this task alone? She did not need the Forfallen. Other ways and means would be offered to her if she bided her time and waited. _

_But she had waited too long now. Night after night, the scene replayed itself. Year after year, she had thought how she might sink that dagger into his chest. How she might feel his blood ooze through her fingers. How she would twist that knife and say to him, 'that should surely kill you!' How she would hear that last gasp of breath. How she would see recognition, comprehension, the reason behind his death written in his eyes. How she would see the life force leave him. This was a much nobler way... revenge from a Wraith... at her own hands._

_But approaching the Forfallen was still an acceptable solution. And if others died as a consequence, then so much the better._

'_Down to business.' For the Queen had no wish to be here longer than necessary._

'_Is how I like it,' agreed the First Forfal._

'_This should not take long.'_

'_As I said, that is how I like it.'_

'_I have... 'work' for you.'_

'_It has been said,' and the scout dispatched ahead, in the Dart had provided the choicest of ingredients for Forfallen spells and charms. _

_And the Queen glanced to her Wraith guard, anxious he should not hear. It was quieter here out of the reaches of the storm therefore she would have to lower her voice._

'_Six years ago, a sister of mine was murdered.' _

And Todd ash Luyten found the faint trace of Ef Xo's thoughts too, as some echo in the Queen's.

_So this was revenge. This one's soul would be so sweet to savour, so flavoured with hatred. And Ef Xo squeezed her eyes tight for a moment simply imagining the ecstasy._

'_The murderer, a human, still walks free, unpunished' _

'_Six years and you have not thought to deal with him, or her, yourself?_'

Ef Xo feigned ignorance as to the identity of the killer but Todd ash Luyten sensed that she knew not only the sex of the killer but the name also. For even Todd ash Luyten could now narrow this down to a certain group from Atlantis led by… John Sheppard.

'_His exact whereabouts are not easy to discover. His home is well protected. Wraith fighting Wraith over valuable culling fields meant that I was otherwise occupied. We were at war with the Replicators at one time. And then the disaster of the Hoffan disease fell upon us.'_

'_Terrible, terrible times,' commiserated Ef Xo, wondering even, if the Forfallen had had a hand in such a sorry state of affairs._

'_Now, due to diminished numbers, I find myself in an alliance with other hives, which in turn is proposing an alliance with his kind. I have no inclination to weaken this alliance by being found responsible for his death. There would be... repercussions. And then I heard of you, that the tales permeating Pegasus for centuries are true. Your unique abilities, would, I feel suit this situation.' _

_To transmit all evil telepathically. To send curses through the very filament of time and space. Leaching like some slow flooded crater. Encroaching, encircling the victim, closing in tight in some claw-like grip. _

'_You have the means to destroy this man, I believe, and neither you, nor I, nor any of my Wraith need be near. There would be no recriminations. It would simply seem that fate has taken a hand in his demise. I may even shed a tear and lament his untimely passing, and no one would suspect.'_

_Ef Xo laughed at the Queen's sarcasm and then nodded her snout comprehending. 'This is all true. And... if this death were at your own hands, of your own choosing, what form do you envisage it would take? How would this be accomplished, this, your perfect revenge?' _

'_He must suffer?' offered the Wraith Queen, tentatively._

'_Naturally.'_

'_As my sister suffered. I leave the manner of how to your discretion. But, I would take him to the point of death, no further and then... begin again.'_

'_Oh that is good! That is good!' And Ef Xo clapped a lifted claw shut in applause. The deeper the Queen went, the more... delicious she was becoming. 'Like the cat with the mouse! Yes! Yes! Release and capture. Release and capture. Mortification of the mind as well as the body. We can do multiple close-deaths, and then... the final breaking of the neck!' She watched the Queen twitch with greed._

Yes. The cat with the mouse... but also the spider pulling in the fly.

_She saw then uncertainty on the part of the Queen. _

She was attempting to read the Forfal's mind?

_Ah, curiosity..._

Contempt of Ef Xo towards the Queen.

'_Just so. You understand me well. I might suggest even removing someone close to him, to demonstrate to him how it feels. I want him to feel responsible for their misfortune just as he was responsible for my sister's death. I want him to suffer as I have suffered.'_

'_Yes, yes, that can also be done.'_

'_But I would wish, that finally, he would know, before the end, that it is my sister's death that he atones for and it is I who has ordered his death. This realisation is imperative to me.'_

'_It will be so. And when? When is all this to occur?'_

'_At this very point in time? The alliance has conferred a meeting. We shall be in the locality of his home and I shall be able to witness, first hand, your success in this matter.'_

'_Of course.' And Ef Xo rose to signify that the meeting had ended. The Wraith Queen, stood also, hesitating to leave. _

'_Your reward? We have not discussed this.'_

'_Reward?'_

'_You require payment surely?' Payment in Wraith terms meant little to the Forfallen. But let the Queen believe it did._

'_Oh, fulfilment is its own reward, is it not? And, it is one less human after all. We would be honoured to serve a Queen such as yourself, that in itself is sufficient.' And Ef Xo bowed low. Oh, let it not be said that Ef Xo did not know her manners. And she believed she might enjoy the prospect of the task ahead. To cause suffering long and slow would require complicated spells, potions, the deepest of trances, the assistance of all her Seconds. A challenge. _

_The Queen smiled, duped by the compliment. 'I was wondering, we have genetic engineers... perhaps... you would like a different form? I could easily find you employment in my Hive.'_

'_A Wraith? Oh, but good Queen, our own magic can change our shape if we so choose it. We have no need of... engineers.'_

'_I apologise. It was tactless of me,' said the Wraith Queen, uneasy now, as the full extent of the Forfallen powers slowly dawned on her._

'_It is not important.' And Ef Xo bowed again. __Oh, see, my most magnificent bounty of everlasting forgiveness!__ Ga Hi was heard to giggle more loudly than ever. And the Queen, puzzled by the laughter, turned to re-join her Wraith escort._

_And then... 'But... you require a name?' _

'_I know it already,' affirmed Ef Xo, lightly._

'_You do? Say it, I wish for no mistake.'_

'_You do not trust us and yet, you had every confidence in our capabilities that you have travelled great distances to meet us in person? Rest assured, O Queen, soon, a death shall be mourned and our work will be done.'_

And still Todd ash Luyten had no name. They blocked him. Permitted him to see all they wanted him to see and then no more. But at least he had verification that the victim was from Atlantis, and was most probably John Sheppard himself. Though he had no clear idea of what had happened that day when the first Hive ship had been wakened by the Atlantis boarding party and who exactly had been responsible for the death of this Queen's twin. It was well then, that the Hive alliance was now heading towards the designated meeting place and he could speak with John Sheppard in person. The distance was as yet too great for direct communications. But what if… what if they arrived too late?

_-_oAo-

He woke. How long...?

No. Not his quarters. Shiny polished dark wooden walls and floor told him that. And the way said floor and walls spun crazily when he tried to focus, that sent a wave of nausea straight to his stomach told him he'd passed out. He hadn't been sleeping all nice and cosy in his bed. The lack of a pillow told him that. The crick in his neck, that meant it was near excruciating to raise his head from its silly lolling angle, told him that. The fact that he was damned uncomfortable all over, seated in an upright chair, stripped down to his boxers, bound by his ankles to the front legs and by his wrists tight behind the upright, pretty much confirmed it too.

He closed his eyes tight against the pain in his head.

And he wasn't in the stasis pod either. He ought to have been. He was sure he'd yelled 'stop' enough freaking times when he'd fought like a wildcat in total darkness against half a dozen or so pairs of hands, that finally laid him out cold.

Hitting him with his own damned gun? Heck, they should have heard him freaking shout 'stop' on freaking _Earth_.

The fail safe had malfunctioned then. Hopefully, Rodney was working on it right now. Though... there was a possibility that Rodney didn't even know he needed help? Well, if he did, hopefully he wouldn't be taking four freaking hours either... but it meant... but it meant he was stuck in the programme until Rodney _did _fix it? And that there was no escape from this... this chair until he did?

But if the programme was continuing to run then perhaps his 'team' were also still in the programme? Could save him from the outside? 'But there had been something final in Sheppard's decision to leave the team outside. His big mistake. Somehow, this felt like one of Rodney's 'if you chose option D, then the worse case scenario Z follows.' He really shouldn't have chosen option D.

So... it was down to him to save his own butt in the meanwhile. Or kill time till the fail safes were operating again. Kill time, huh? Hopefully, it was only time that was gonna get killed...

But none of this was real, right? He couldn't be hurt? Then why were the straps at his wrist cutting in enough to draw blood? Why was his head throbbing so much that he could hardly bear to open his eyes? The glass cover created the atmosphere and _sensation_. Funny how some parts of the programme were working ok.

And that damned humming, clicking was still loud in his ears. Perhaps he was hearing some mechanism in the stasis pod?

And there... some sort of scratching noise...

He'd gotta be brave now and shove those eyes open and make some sort of assessment. This was still part of the so-called training? So... for starters... Where was he? How many guards? And where was the nearest exit?

Where was he, as he managed a squint and push aside the fuzziness, was a very large hall. And his chair was positioned right bang in the centre. How much room did these guys need to... and the pit of his stomach tightened... _interrogate_ him? Yeah, he guessed that was coming some time soon. It didn't feel like the 'meet and greet' programme was now running somehow. Unless they were employing some very disturbed people in the computer department at SGC these days.

A little to his right... a small table... A neat pile lay there... His uniform? He couldn't be sure... Well, that was promising anyhow. Shows they expected to hand his clothes back but he shivered at the lack of them... big halls... draughty... sure.

And far across the hall... another table... an over-the-top carved desk, where the scratching noise was coming from... some guy sitting there... a skull cap on, a gown, robe, monk-like, _pope-like, _because it was purple, writing... scratching with a quill... his face lit by a solitary candle beside him... who then looked up in Sheppard's direction, appearing to note that he was awake now, appearing to decide that it was of no particular consequence that he was, and preceded to finish with his writing... scratching.

Well, no one seemed to be in any hurry to beat him up, which was something of a relief.

He scanned the room further... no guards... at least none in sight... then... they were outside the door? He could only see the one door, small, situated in a corner. Then there was another, much larger behind him? It'd figure with a hall this large. But if there were guards there, then they were being quiet about their... _guarding_.

A glance upwards... Jeez! A jolt to his neck and the back of his eyeballs – now that sort of movement was a helluva stupid thing to do. But... stick with it... it might be important... he might find a way out... a wooden vaulted roof and high set windows that showered the vast ceiling space with diffused yellow light but kept the room below dark and shadowed... that's why the guy had his candle. Well, at least the subdued lighting was easy on the eyesight. But the windows were too far up to offer escape.

So, it was just him and the scratching guy? Who was now blotting his work and rolling up scrolls. Who stood and shambled over to the other table. And close up, Sheppard could see he was white haired and elderly. He picked up something small from the pile of clothes that clinked. Sheppard's dog tags.

"Your name is John Sheppard?" asked the Monk in something of a monotone voice, coming over to him.

"And yours is?"

"The Thulmion. The leader of our people. It is with me that you requested an audience."

"Yeah, well, I needn't have dressed up for the occasion and I'd been happy enough to stand. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble-"

And Sheppard recoiled hard from the slap across the face. Shit! The guy wore a ring... must have ripped his cheek open... shit! White-haired elderly statesmen weren't like they used to be.

"John Sheppard. Yes or no?" And the Monk used that same level dead voice, with hardly any inflection. He was one cold bastard.

Sheppard raised his head, his jaw and cheek smarting like hell. "Yeah," he said simply, wondering if the blow or even his previous spell unconscious would have registered with Carson's monitors, would have sent out some sort of SOS call that he needed the stasis pod shut down.

The Monk smiled thinly. "John Sheppard, whose speedy comprehension of a given situation makes him an excellent student, don't you think? And... this," peering once more at the dog tags that he dangled in front of Sheppard's face. "L...T... C...O...L, is this your status in your military? You are a soldier? You were bearing arms."

"Lieutenant Colonel, yes." Name, Rank, Serial number. That's all this guy was going to get from him.

"Is this a high status?"

"No." Ok. Some honesty too. He was only killing time after all. Till Rodney could get his end sorted out. But a headache was one hell of an obstacle when your head is trying to figure out some means to keep this conversation going forever.

"And yet, you hoped to speak with a leader?" He'd slowly walked round the back of Sheppard and Sheppard could feel those eyes bearing down on him. And it didn't take much to figure out that this guy got a high out of power. Got a kick out of being in control.

"Why did not your own leader come? You are from Atlantis?" And he came round the front of Sheppard again, scrutinizing him carefully.

He wasn't about to answer the last part of that question but saw no harm in filling out the rest, especially if he could throw in a warning or two of his own. "I was sent ahead to prepare things and my leader won't be too happy with the way his ambassador has been treated if I don't return to my people soon-"

"The Portal has been closed." Well, even in this virtual world, there were always the jumpers? But it was starting to feel like the dice was getting more loaded against him by the minute. An absent team. A sadistic monk. "You came in from Atlantis? We have heard rumours of you people. It is the only explanation of your... special blood."

Crap, Sheppard had forgotten about the ATA detector.

Once more the walk around the chair.

"You came to trade? But what did you wish to trade?"

Damned if he knew. What did these people have? Nothing worth mentioning.

"Perhaps... you came to spy?" And he rounded on Sheppard suddenly, pulling up his chin, forcing two fingers into the cut there, gripping his cheeks, leering into his face, "perhaps you came to interfere with the way that we run things here. The stories say, you people interfere, too much. Be assured, you will not interfere here." He shoved Sheppard's head hard back into the chair and walked off to wipe his hands on Sheppard's uniform - not that Sheppard was bothered at that moment. Breathing hard, his head was reeling still from the onslaught on his face. When he got out of this, he'd just got to tell Rodney to tone down the pain factor by... say one hundred percent.

"We can sometimes help," Sheppard somehow slurred out in their defence. Because he was sure that they did, sure that they did help, more often than not.

And the Monk was back before Sheppard again, and Sheppard couldn't help flinching, as he crouched down - pretty good for an old man - and looked earnestly into Sheppard's face... and Sheppard went cold... there was just something there... just something there that reminded him of Kolya... the way the threat came..."I intend to see that you do, _help_."

The Monk patted his knee and Sheppard so wanted to back away from that but even the small movement of shifting made him wince and reminded him how sore both his head and hands were.

"You know nothing of us, do you?" The old man stood again and paced yet another circle with his hands behind his back. "This world is occupied by two nations. The Defries, my people. And the Gyomians. We have been at war for centuries. Sometimes, one is the victor, subjugating the other. And at other times, the situation is reversed. At the present, there exists a stalemate. I wish naturally, to redress that balance. I wish to remove the thorn of the Gyomians from our side forever. And you are going to do this for me. This stronghold was constructed on the remains of an Ancient city. It was small but justified the installation of a protective Chair. You know of what I am talking?"

Sheppard tried not to show it. He guessed he failed.

The Monk nodded. "I see that you do. When the Ancients left, all those thousands of years ago, the Chair, requiring the ATA gene, became useless to us. It was kept, however, in some sort of vain hope that one day, the Ancients would return. Is that day today, John Sheppard? You can see where this is leading, surely?" And he stopped pacing to study Sheppard's face. "Yes, I see that you understand completely. I wish you to activate the missiles that are fired from the Chair, and rid us of the Gyomians, once and for all. You will help us, this way, will you not?"

The Gyomians weren't real, were they? He could say yes, couldn't he? He could blow a whole planet to kingdom come and it wouldn't matter. Wouldn't win him a lot of cub points on his trainee score card but he was just killing time... no... people... no... _imaginary_ people... but if he could feel pain, then so would they? No, he was the only one in a stasis pod.

"Do I need to... persuade you?" Sheppard was going to chicken out and just say yes? At least, show some resistance - and get beaten up for sure. He was the only one feeling pain here and it was best to avoid it. As Rodney would say, 'you could die of pain.' Yeah, he was going to have to appear selfish here and think about number one, but it was going against the grain.

He'd thought too long. There must have been guards behind him after all. The Monk stroke Thalmion clapped his hands suddenly. Doors were heard to open and within seconds, Ronon, Teyla and Rodney, bruised and beaten, struggling, all shackled together with some serious heavy duty chains, with hands manacled behind their backs, were pushed in to his left by a dozen guards,

Questions again whirling through his head. Why not bring them all into the castle together, to start with? They saw Sheppard as the greatest risk and decided to separate him from them at the onset? Or this was another part of the programme kicking in? To see how he'd react-

"You don't touch them. I'll do as you ask."

It was that simple.

"John, no! Don't!" And Teyla was knocked to the ground, nearly taking Rodney down with her, crying out as her shoulder took the full brunt of her fall.

"You leave her alone!" He yelled, fighting his bindings, squirming in his chair, even moving it fractionally in his effort to go to her aid. But hell, he couldn't. Neither could Ronon who was of the same mind. Who had four guards forcing him to his knees, pinning him down, holding him in an arm lock. Every muscle flexed tight and taut as he screamed and cursed through gritted teeth.

But Sheppard didn't have to go to her or Ronon's defence. She wasn't real, was she? But she felt so real. This all felt so real...

"I said I'd do it!"

"John... you can't..." Rodney, alone and still standing. And no, he couldn't exactly say, 'it's ok, Rodney, you're only pretend. The Gyomians, all of you, are only pretend. And one thing I'm not going to do is watch you get beat up... not after those last times... not after all the nightmares.'

"You can't... All those thousands... You can't save us and slaughter... John... it's genocide... you can't..."

And Teyla attempted to stagger to her feet, collapsing again, too beaten to make the effort with her hands secured behind her, bourn down by the sheer weight of chains.

"Please don't, John!" she cried from her place on the floor. "You must not think of us! Truly, you must not!"

"You're not real," he said out loud, trying to convince himself. "I can do this."

"What do you mean, we're not real? What do you think we are? Virtual or something? I told you he hasn't been the same since we got him out of the stasis pod! Since those natives nearly killed him." Rodney complained to Teyla. "He should never have been allowed on missions! He's finally cracked!"

"Wait up. You telling me you rescued me from the stasis pod?"

"Yeah, weeks ago. But you don't remember, do you? Course not... you've cracked."

And yeah, if this was real, he'd seem real crazy.

The Thalmion stood there and smiled at all of this. "Whereas this is all so touching, I do need your definite answer?"

"Don't!" gritted out Ronon, straining against the hands and chains that held him. "You're going to have to let him kill us! You don't have any choice!"

"Oh, but he does," joined in the Thalmion, leaning back against the table, arms folded, enjoying the show.

"You're not real," Sheppard repeated slowly, looking at them all, when each and every one looked so very real.

"We are! John, you have to believe us!" pleaded Teyla, weakly lifting herself from the floor onto her elbows.

"They look real enough to me, John Sheppard," put in the Thalmion, hardly moved.

"John! We got you out of the stasis pod. It affected your mind... please..." and Teyla was on her knees now, speaking heaps with those brown eyes of hers.

"Your answer?" And the Thalmion stood, raising an eyebrow, confronting him again.

It had to be no. How could he be sure? Even now this might be the programme talking. A fake still.

But he couldn't take that chance, he just couldn't. And the consequences? If this were real?

"No... no... I... I can't," he said. He looked at them all... saying sorry with his eyes... Ronon, and Rodney, pulling back his shoulders, both firm in their resolve to face their ends. And Teyla too, still panting with her effort and pain to stand. Damnit. He was sealing their death warrants.

"And killing them... killing them... still won't make me do it..." And he looked to the Thalmion and he knew he was begging, but hell, what did it matter? "Don't kill them... please... we... we... can arrange talks... work something out... negotiations... act as mediators... to bring about peace... _any thing_... but I can't... I can't operate the Chair for you..."

"And who says _I__'m_ going to kill them?" Sure. He's not. Someone else to do his dirty work. And he beckoned to one of the guards who hurriedly exited by the small door in the corner. "A very commendable speech, John Sheppard. So highly principled but you believe you can reverse the history of many centuries merely by talking things over? Then you are a fool also. And fools, whatever their ideals are generally speaking, I find, the weakest beings of all. We'll see if we cannot persuade you to change your mind, shall we? Though I'd rather not. This is going to get rather messy and the floors have only just been polished..."

A noise... that he couldn't identify... snuffling, grunting, scraping from beyond the door.

"The young lady first, I think."

The guards found another chair, placing it about twelve feet in front of Sheppard. And then, unlinking Teyla from the other two, they dragged her over, unlocking her wrists, pushing her down and re-securing her with hands behind her, placing a leather strap around her head and the upright of the chair.

And Ronon, Rodney, Sheppard, even the guards stared at the horror that emerged through the door, chained also, and held by further lengths of chain by yet more guards, who struggled to hold the beast, that clawed and snapped at its restraints... a giant black Iratus hybrid bug... like those Michael had developed.

"Oh God... oh God... oh God..." came from a frozen Rodney. And Teyla pulled at her bindings, attempting and failing to see what was being hauled across the room behind her towards her chair. Both Ronon and Sheppard objected like fury but Ronon was held even tighter by his guards as he struggled in his kneeling position, and Sheppard pushed against the guard that now held his neck in an arm lock of his very own.

The Iratus, frustrated at being held captive, reared on its two back legs, sending a couple of guards flying, its mandibles noisy with opening and shutting, its four arm claws, restricted by chains, vainly cracking at thin air. Its guards fought for control, shouting and hollering, the whole group slithered across the wooden floor.

This was one hungry – and mad – Iratus.

"You don't touch her! You don't touch her, Thalmion!" His cries nothing more than a stifled yell, forced out over the arm of the guard. "You kill me, you hear! It's me you need to kill!"

The Thalmion came to his side and crouched down beside him, to watch with him. "That would rather defeat the object of the exercise, don't you think? One last chance, then, John Sheppard, will you operate the Chair for us?"

And he couldn't say no... he just couldn't and he attempted to shake his head... it wasn't a 'no' exactly... it was his apology to Teyla... it was his helplessness that he couldn't save her... it was 'no' to the goodbye that his brain just didn't want to acknowledge... that was there... but he didn't want to let it be there... he wasn't ready for this... he was never ready for this... to say goodbye to any one of them... he'd always prevented it... but not now... not damn well now... why had everything gone so very wrong?

And he was facing Teyla and she looked at him... no fear there now... calm to meet her death... accepting his apology... even though the racket of the beast and its guards behind her must have been frightening the hell out of her.

And the Thalmion, spoke into his ear, oily and wheedling. "The Iratorians. A forerunner of the Wraith, sidestepped by evolution, that exist in small colonies throughout Pegasus. Do you know how one of these things kill their prey, John Sheppard?" And jeez, he was making sure that Teyla could hear all this detail.

He held up a hand. And made a scissor movement with his fingers. "They have pincers, you see..." And Sheppard fought to free his hands, fought against the arm around his neck, fought to release his legs so hard, the chair rocked even with the guard holding him - he so wanted to kill this Thalmion guy.

"He doesn't want to hear, you cretin!" shouted out Rodney, promptly shoved down to his knees beside Ronon for his outburst.

The Thalmion continued as if nothing had happened. "And the pincers are ideal to cut through flesh. They make an incision from the stomach to the throat. Then as an appetiser, as it were, they suck at the blood... and it seems to excite them... this first blood... and they quickly move on to the heart, which they rip out, with it beating still, proceeding to consume this while their victim still lives. I imagine it can be quite painful... Now John Sheppard, listen to me, do we allow the Iratorian to feed today? What are there here? Four beating hearts to enjoy and you can watch three being devoured. You really wish to do this? To feed your friends to this fiend?"

"You... you rot in hell!" He panted out, straining still with every muscle to break loose.

The Thalmion stood abruptly. "Strap his neck and head. Make sure he watches, even if you have to prise his eyes open. And gag her, I have no wish to hear her screams." And seconds later, he indicated for the beast to be brought over to Teyla and the chains of the Iratorian were slackened off...

-oAo-


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

'_Bi Lu. You do not kill him. It is not your task to kill him.'_

"Rodney! He's unconscious! You have to get him out of there! Immediately! Now! This instant!" shouted Carson, alarm written all over his face.

'_Bi Lu. Do you not hear me?' _ _intoned Ef Xo, her thoughts, her clicking difficult in her effort to keep the Trochlor Lines open._

"Don't you think I don't know that?" Different person. But the same alarm. "Nothing's responding! I can't even raise the lid!"

'_I hear.'_

'_Then why do you persist?'_

_No Reply. And Ef Xo seemed unable to free herself from her own stupor induced from the spell to intervene._

First, they'd been a period of calm. And Rodney remembered Carson's oh-so-calm voice blissful now like a far-off tropical paradise, reading out the med stats. Heart rate: normal. Breathing: even. Electro-impulses from the brain: regular. Eye ball movement: indicating something akin to deep restful sleep.

'He's having a nice nap, in there, Rodney,' and he'd winked.

Whatever the mission involved, Sheppard had obviously been relaxed about it all. A breeze. A walk in the park. He was probably making out with some brunette…Then the data had suddenly gone seriously haywire. Monitors, both Rodney's and Carson's, beeped out panic like the audible equivalent of ten foot high neon lights declaring the outbreak of World War Three.

Well, that's what it felt like to Rodney as he fought all the controls, removing crystals, re-configuring data... anything... asking the question, over and over. "Why didn't he say, 'stop'! Jeez, Carson, why didn't he say, 'stop'?"

"He obviously didn't get the chance!"

"The programme's virtual! It's not real! The reason he's unconscious has nothing to do with the programme!"

"You think so? You see anything in there that could have caused it? A door he walked into perhaps? Just get him out of there, Rodney!"

"I can't! Don't you understand? Nothing is working! Responding! Nothing! Not even the manual overrides! Nothing is working! Nothing is _going_ to work!" He'd been getting whole chocolate box full of error messages. And that feeling of déjà vu. He'd been using these exact same words when the Gate had been inoperable.

"Nothing? You mean… you can't even get the lid open? He's stuck in there?"

"In answer to the first question, yes. In answer to the second question, no. To the third, yes, Carson, yes, he's stuck!"

"Can't you substitute another programme?" Preferably one with a doctor in it.

"No! You don't understand! What's happening to him has nothing to do with the programme I've input. Replacing it won't make any difference! It's like its running on a blank tape. It should've finished long before now! Nothing should be having this affect on him!"

"Look..." and Carson took Rodney firmly by the shoulders and made him look him fully in the face. "You've got to calm down here, Rodney. You mustn't panic. You can't afford to panic."

"What was I thinking? Putting him in there when so many things have gone wrong lately! And - who said I was panicking?" he added, screeching his indignation.

"Yes, Rodney, you're panicking," affirmed Carson, nodding his encouragement. "Take lots of deep breaths now... with me... in... out... in... out..."

"Yes. Panicking. I was panicking. Right, deep breaths." And there they were, the two of them, inhales and exhales, because… it was obviously helping Carson too.

"That's it... nice and slowly does it... then, you'll be able to think clearer. A solution will come, you know it will, yes? In the meantime, can we break the glass?" And probably shower Sheppard with debris but that would be the least of his worries. "Prise the lid open somehow?"

"No!" And Rodney felt his panic ebb straight back. "It's toughened glass. To totally seal in the atmosphere. The same technology as bullet proof glass," he explained helplessly.

"Who designs these things? Scientists? But an axe would do the trick?"

And then, suddenly the bleeping stopped, and Carson cast his trained eye over his equipment. And Rodney peered over his shoulder trying to make sense of all the medical mumbo jumbo.

"He's ok isn't he?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yes. Not really. Maybe. I'm not happy. Heart rate is still way too high. As are the b.p stats..."

"It's a simulation. It's made to be real. Perhaps minutes ago, he simply reacted to something in a realistic way... and... _fainted_?"

"These stats are real enough, Rodney. Whatever was going on in there wasn't doing him any good." And still wasn't in all probability. "Just, look at him, Rodney." Sheppard's pallor was pale and every muscle of his face tense. His body twitched and jerked. His fingers continually uncurled and then fisted. His eye ball movement remained rapid. "In an animal, those would be all the indications of being on the run, wary, alert to danger or attack. I suggest we still attempt get this lid open."

"I … could shut down power... to the whole tower... it'd mean loss of control over for a few seconds... even the Gate... yes, I could do that." He was thinking out loud, pacing the room. "I haven't been able to isolate the system and shut down power to the pod alone. It's like... it's like... God, Carson!" said Rodney, looking at Carson, wide eyed. "It's like it's literally taken on a mind of its own and won't let me!"

'_Bi Lu. I warned you.'_

"But shutting down the power would be good, Rodney. It's a start." And he patted Rodney on the shoulder in what must have been his best optimistic bedside manner, trying to keep him focussed. "It'll be ok - hunky dory." Attempting to keep his face bright as he radioed out for a gurney and medical team, as Rodney, heavy-hearted, made a couple of calls of his own.

The first to the Control Room, warning them of the impending black-out, that led to an entire section of the city being plunged into darkness for a couple of minutes. But still the lid wouldn't budge and still Sheppard slept on. And a call to Woolsey, to let him know the situation, and the Atlantis grapevine being what it was, Ronon was the first to appear, gun ready in one hand.

"No, you can't use that!" said Rodney, rolling his eyes, "the glass is toughened and bullet proof!"

"Why?"

"Why? Why? Because it just is!" And Rodney didn't honestly know. It just said so on the data read-out. In case of earthquakes?

Ronon threw him his best who-cares-look. "Stand clear."

But Lorne entered just at that moment with three marines and engineers with cutting equipment. And Woolsey with Teyla. And the med team. And the room was soon full of people and it felt wrong somehow to Rodney, with Sheppard sleeping in the middle of it all, oblivious. Though… all faces were worried, concerned.

Lorne cast an eye over the pod, quickly assessing the situation.

"This is the control box?" A black square of carbon material slung under the base, sitting in a spaghetti pile of wires. "You've tried cutting the power? Why can't we cut through these?"

"It has its own back-up battery. In case of emergencies. To protect the occupant in case of power failure. It's what it's operating on now. Cutting power to this room and the tower has triggered it off," Rodney explained gloomily. He wasn't kidding when he said nothing would work. Why wouldn't they believe him?

"And the battery?" pushed Lorne.

"Is inside the pod."

"Who designs these things? Scientists?"

Lorne, not giving up that easily, turned his attention to studying the metallic seal that held the lid to the base - tight.

"How's this seal work exactly?"

"The glass is specially toughened, bullet-proof," he was tired of the repetition of explaining this to people. Couldn't they _see_ how hopeless Sheppard's situation was? "And the glass overlaps at the point of seal, where there's _thick_ rubber and then, a metal strip... that makes three layers in total to get through."

"And underneath," and Lorne was bobbing down, checking that area out. "It's all glass?"

"Yeah," admitted Rodney, forlornly.

Lorne looked up with his next question. "And nothing's working there?" meaning with Rodney's consoles.

"I've tried everything, it..." and Rodney stared dismally at his trusted keyboard that had so let him down. "It might as well be made of... putty."

"What went wrong exactly?" asked Woolsey, preferring not to stare at the pod too much. None of them did.

"A virus." And it was difficult for Rodney to find his voice and he waved a forefinger around ineffectually. "The pod believes," not that Rodney would ever give inanimate objects any credence of having thought processes, "that the danger's out here, and not in there and has sealed the lid and appears to be continuing the programme, with some silly notion that he's better off in there."

And he was sure he wasn't making a lot of sense. All clear, concise logic had scrambled in his brain twenty minutes ago.

"You suggested bringing cutting equipment?" asked Woolsey of Lorne. "But won't he be... well, the glass may shatter down on him?"

"It'll melt along the cut," said Lorne who'd already thought this out. "We'll cut a hole at the feet end, keeping the fumes and flame away from his face." And Carson nodded, agreeing with Lorne's precautions.

"That'll take time? Let me try this first," suggested Ronon, indicating his gun. And Lorne gave him the go ahead.

And Rodney sighed at the finality of it all. No way was he ever going to discover his solution using his laptop. This was all out of his hands now. Let brute force take over. But this had all been his fault anyway. His decision to proceed.

He stuck his fingers in his ears and like others, turned away. And Ronon let loose the red energy beam at the seal resulting in a deafening bang that made them all flinch or duck. Other than a firework display of sparks it had no effect. And he fired again, at the glass itself. It left a faint blackened patch but little else.

"Jeez!" said Lorne, standing more upright, "What _is_ that stuff made of?"

Lorne's marines and Ronon tried the lid and it wouldn't budge.

"And whose fool idea was it to put him in there in the first place?" demanded Ronon, glowering at Rodney. Rodney turned away. He didn't need this criticism. He was beating himself up enough already.

"What do you suggest now?" asked Teyla, tactfully returning everyone to the subject in hand. And Woolsey nodded his head to second that.

"He's not in immediate danger you think? Because it's gonna take time getting through that glass, if we can manage it at all," said Lorne, addressing Carson whilst looking at his CO imprisoned in a glass tomb. And he had to be thinking of the jinx... they all were...

"No," filled in Carson, "At the moment, things have settled down but we don't know if or when that situation might change."

"Then we have time before we do anything too drastic," considered Lorne.

"Too drastic? What's that?" asked Woolsey sharply, probably feeling that he wasn't going to like the sound of Lorne's fall back proposal.

"Explosive charges," said Lorne grimly.

"What? C4?" objected Rodney.

"A last resort, if we run out of time. But my men will need enough warning to set it up. We can't be cutting and laying explosives at the same time."

"Actually, you're wrong," said Rodney.

And Lorne threw him a questioning look. "You'll find I'm right," he said tightly.

"No... no...not about the explosives. It's – time - he hasn't time - not a great deal at any rate - air supply has failed - he... he," and Rodney swallowed hard, hating to admit this, "has twenty minutes of air max."

'_Bi Lu,' intoned Ef Xo again._

And they all looked to at the pod where the glass was already misting up.

'_Bi Lu. What is it you are doing?'_

"I thought you said the pod thinks he's safe in there?" asked Carson.

"Yes. It _thinks_ so. But I didn't say it was _correct_ to think so, however."

"Right, let's move! Get cutting. At least, it'll give him an air hole. That's alright with you Commander?"

"There's an element of risk in setting the explosives?" posed Woolsey. "Then, in view of the fact that Colonel Sheppard's condition is stable at present, yes, I suggest we proceed with cutting the glass."

The cutting equipment was brought in closer and the engineers, donning goggles, soon set to work, throwing blue eerie flares and grotesque shadows across faces and walls. The noise was horrendous and in the midst of it all lay Sheppard, sleeping fitfully, watched by Carson, shielding his eyes from the glare of the torch. Rodney found a corner and slumped down in it to wait. Ronon, hesitated, and then went and joined him.

"Sorry," Ronon apologised. "Uncalled for. What I said earlier."

"You were angry, yeah. So am I, really," said Rodney morosely, staring at his feet splayed out in front of him. "At myself." And he thumped his thigh making Ronon blink. "We... I... Have you realised," and this was directed to Woolsey and Teyla, who stood close-by, "that we keep making the wrong decisions, the wrong assessments of all the situations that keep coming our way?" Ronon made to say something to interrupt and Rodney raised a palm to stop him. "I know... I know you guys keep talking about being jinxed, and I know this is going to sound like I might actually be agreeing with you, when until now, I've... well, lets just say, I've been taking pinches of salt by the barrel-load, but it's starting to feel like... something, _someone_ is putting ideas into our heads. Making us do things we just wouldn't ordinarily do. Contemplate even. Not in our wildest dreams. I'm not excusing myself, but you're right, what possessed me to put Sheppard in what might turn out to be his glass coffin? It just wasn't a decision I would normally, rationally make."

"You believe someone is exerting control over us?" enquired a concerned Woolsey.

"You've asked me to look into things. We've run extra checks on all teams that have been off-world in the last few weeks. On all artefacts ad specimens brought through the Gate. And I've come up with nothing. No scientific, technological reason for all the things happening. Yeah, that is what I'm saying, I guess. It's all in the mind? And now, look who's paying the price..." All four of them glanced over to the group working round the stasis pod. "How ever are we going to put this one right?"

And Teyla slipped down the wall to sit beside him, folding her arms around her as if cold.

"Rodney," she said in commiseration, "do not give up hope. John would not wish it."

"I guess. You know, he... Sheppard... _John_... he always thinks... it's always got to be him to lay his life down on the line... for any one of us but you know... at this moment... I'd do anything... _anything_ to trade places with him..."

"Yeah," said Ronon, simply.

They watched in silence now as the work on the glass proceeded. Carson shook his head at one point, tutting because progress was so slow. The medics standing near-by throwing him sympathetic glances. Minutes passed and only a four inch slash had been sliced into the glass at Sheppard's feet.

"No... no... no..." groaned Sheppard suddenly, moving his head ever so slightly.

'_It is destined for me,' struggled out Teyla Emmagan before they gagged her, before the Athosian met her end, her moan cut short as her heart and life were wrenched from her body. And Ef Xo shivered. This was an unnatural reaction to death for a Forfal and it was not even a real death. This was real, however, watching Sheppard hold back his scream, feel all hope draining from him. Perhaps Bi Lu did understand fully what it was she was accomplishing here? To instil such anguish in the human. Permit her to continue then?_

The engineers paused with their cutting and Rodney, Teyla and Ronon leapt to their feet to approach the pod. Woolsey who had wandered to the centre of the room, alone, thinking, rubbing his chin, now raised his head attentive.

"Carson?"

And Carson was quickly checking the monitor. "Heart rate climbing steeply," he warned.

_And Teyla Emmagan's body was dragged away. 'Sorry... sorry... sorry...' the human cried, but John Sheppard still refused to kill the Gyomians._

Tension in the room... anticipating that Sheppard would move and moan again... hoping he wouldn't... not like that...

_'Sorry... sorry, buddy,' he forced out, broken. And Ronon Dex fought hard as they pushed him to the chair, still wet with the blood of Teyla Emmagan, and was quickly chained there. And he forgave John Sheppard with simple words: 'You have no choice.' _

The silence broken by the quiet voice of Teyla, the only one of them who dared to speak.

"What do you think is happening?" she said, her question echoing all their thoughts.

"No... no... no..."

_And the Iratorian fed a second time and Sheppard fought against the strap at his head and closed his eyes but they were forced open and he was made to watch... as Ef Xo watched... and even her blood ran cold..._

And then it seemed like everyone was talking, shouting all at once.

"What's he saying?" asked one of the engineers. But little that was coherent could be heard through the thickness of the glass.

"I dunno. But you'd better bloody well get a move on!" urged Carson, eyes desperately scanning all the monitors. "I'm not liking what I'm reading here!"

Sheppard's head was thrashing from side to side, fighting the pod's strap on his forehead. He must have been having the mother of all nightmares, mouthing the words... no... no... no... stop... stop... don't don't don't.

_'Kill me! Kill me, instead!' the human, John Sheppard implored, as Rodney McKay was chained to the chair. _

'_I'm scared,' said Rodney McKay, tears in his eyes._

'_I know,' hoarsed John Sheppard, fighting back his own._

'_Don't go punishing yourself,' uttered Rodney McKay, words stifled by the gag roughly tightened about his head, before sucking at life's last breath, leaving his eyes wide and staring, a gaping bloodied mess at his chest and the Iratorian slobbering with its greed. _

_'Please, please kill me...' the human whispered._

"He is in pain?" asked Teyla sharply.

"Carson? Is he in pain?" repeated Lorne.

"He's reacting like he is, is all I can say!"

_'Bi Lu! Bi Lu! Enough!' __This had gone too far and Ef Xo had been unable to prevent it, caught up in her trance. Had Bi Lu done this to her? Had rendered her incapable of intervening?_

_'Trust me, O First, this is suffering worse than death.'_

_And the Iratorian was permitted to feed on John Sheppard, its great black body towering over him... John Sheppard's eyes... pleading... pleading with the beast to finish it... Sumner... Sumner begging for his end... John Sheppard's body limp, defeated... begging for an end to everything he had witnessed before they were ingrained as memory in his mind forever... he could stand death but not this... not this... not living with this... and the Iratorian held its tarsal claw over his chest... to give him one last chance… and Sheppard found defiance... found it in those very same memories of his friends... 'Just do it!' and the Iratorian carved into the skin... _

And Sheppard... Sheppard seemed to scream... a soundless scream... and he threw his shoulders hard back into the pod's mattress, arcing his back in absolute agony.

And the monitors were bleeping like crazy again.

"Sir?" And one of the engineers stood to one side, and Lorne peered through the glass.

"That's it! Everyone out! I want those charges laid now!"

_And the beast bent low, slavering at the blood there. And every movement of the Iratorian's mandibles sliced through him. But it was ok to pray for the end... ok to let this all ebb away... _

"Lorne? Lorne? What is it?" Rodney and Ronon.

"Your damned programme! Too real that's what it is! Everyone out!" he ordered again as the two of marines began rummaging into packages, moulding the explosives in their hands.

"He is wounded?" asked Teyla. "How is this?"

_'Bi Lu. You do not kill him. This is not the time.'_

"He's pulled stitches again?" No. Not the stitches, as Rodney saw the blood glisten on Sheppard's shirt front. A straight line down, from throat to the stomach. And Sheppard's eyes had sprung open, staring into some wide open space...

"He's... bleeding!" and Ronon began pushing Rodney out of the room. "He's... bleeding, Ronon. How can he be bleeding? My God… it's like the pod's trying to kill him!"

'_Bi Lu!'_

"He's going into shock! We really do need him out of there!" shouted Carson, ready to make his own exit after one last look at the monitors, pushing the two medics out of there.

And then Rodney caught sight of the explosives being attached around the pod's seal and all the consequences of that dawned on him afresh.

"You can't use that! It's... it's a confined space!"

_'Bi Lu... I cannot trust you... I will intervene... do not force me to intervene...' and Bi Lu opened her mandibles and roared her intonation - the loudest ever of a Forfallen. 'I wanted his heart! You must let me finish this!'_

"We know how to keep the worst of the blast away from him! Now everyone out!"

And Carson was pulling at Rodney's arm, pulling him out of the room. He needed guiding. He was seeing nothing. Feeling nothing but numbness. "He's going to die, Carson, he's going to die..."

_It's ok to slip away now... not afraid to die... never... it's ok... stop... stop..._

Lorne and his marines were scarcely two minutes before they appeared running to join the others in the corridor.

_'No. You permit him to live, ' commanded Ef Xo._

"Fire in the hole!" Lorne yelled, praying this would work, blocking his ears with his fingers, the others following suit. The predicted explosion shook the corridor, bringing smoke feathering out through the door.

_And the hall faded from Sheppard's vision..._

But Lorne, Carson and his medical team were back in there before the dust had hardly settled. Lorne had told everyone else to stay put, but Rodney couldn't bear to stand still and followed in, though Ronon had tried preventing him, protecting him from what he might see in the room. "They don't need you in there."

Rodney simply twisted his arm out of Ronon's hold, more in a daze than an act of defiance. And Ronon rolled his eyes and let him go. And Sheppard was already being lifted onto the gurney. Limp. His eyes closed. And Rodney noted the oxygen mask and the drip. And all the cuts from the glass.

"He's not dead." His observation flat and blank, his heart like lead, not wishing to think they could be so lucky.

"Aye, he's not dead, Rodney, thank God," said a relieved Carson.

-oAo-

Ef Xo remained motionless for some time, intoxicated with the scents of the incenses and burning oils that caught and thrilled every fibrous hair of her sensory organs along the length of each of her limbs. She savoured the air... oh, so good... oh, so good... and would have cared not to speak to Bi Lu but the effort must be made. More minutes passed, however, while she imbibed yet again, feeling the Wraith Queen weakening as she drew on her soul through the Trochlor lines. And then, Ef Xo permitted it of the others. Sufficient to satiate but no more.

And the victim? They would have to be more cautious now, not to finish this too soon but to finish it soon enough before all resilience would fail him - and that would leave a sour taste. It was a delicate balance to maintain. Though this human was admirable in his ability to survive. This was due to the spirit of his friends perhaps? His strength made the flavour of this feast all the more delectable and she could understand a little of why the Wraith so desired to feed on the mortals.

But Bi Lu?

'_Bi Lu. __Your spell with this double danger was ingenious.' _Ef Xo could give credit where it was due. '_But you disobeyed me. This I cannot tolerate. You know that.'_

'_I did not kill him.'_

'_Would you have resisted if I had not said? Come here, Bi Lu.'_

'_You cannot kill me! You need me!' _

'_Come here, Bi Lu.'_

Bi Lu stood her ground on the other side of the cave where the smoke billowed still. The other Seconds could be seen shifting, nervous, shadows moving away from the pair.

'_You cannot kill me! This is the best feasting ever! Better than any of your conjuring! I've surpassed you! I should be First now-'_

Her last words. The venom that Ef Xo sprayed from her abdomen, so acidic, so toxic that Bi Lu's head was taken clean off. Her still-standing body twitched and jerked, hissing at the neck from the heat of the poison, before finally collapsing to the floor of the cave, where not even the Forfallen young or Iratus Bugs would touch it.

And then Ka Oh, forever intuitive, interrupted Ef Xo's moment of victory.

'_The Wraith Commander, he knows too much.'_

Yes. She had sensed it too. While the Trochlor lines were open, he moved on the fringes of their trance, seeking a crevice in.

'_We must move fast now,' _agreed Ef Xo.

'_In for the kill!' _Shrieked Ga Hi, her eyes and ocelli rolling manically, still high on the smoke and aromas filling the cave.

Of course, her Seconds knew best to quickly forget Bi Lu… but she hoped they would remember the lesson Ef Xo meted out to those that would question her.

But yes, Ef Xo felt ready now to kill both John Sheppard and Todd ash Luyten, even envisaging how this would be done.

_Indeed. That time approaches. But not yet. More cat and mouse before that time. Ka Oh? To you, the final wearing down. _Though she imagined that after Bi Lu's work, Ka Oh might find this an easy enough task.

And Ka Oh rose, drunken and unsteady on her feet, making her way to the back of the cave and to the pool...

-oAo-


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"You're not dead. I can't believe you're not dead."

And Sheppard couldn't believe that Rodney wasn't dead either... nor Teyla... nor Ronon... and there was a pain in his chest at the thought of what he'd seen in the pod that no amount of painkillers was ever gonna heal…

"Yeah, so you keep saying." Though actually, Rodney was _shouting._

Sheppard rubbed an ear and tried thumping the side of his head, nearly disturbing the IV at his arm, but the thumping didn't help any either – his hearing was still not one hundred per cent from the effects of the blast. Sounds were still coming at him like he was underwater. Though he was lucky that it was only his hearing that seemed to be bothering him. He'd been told it'd been another close call and he remembered oxygen masks and the sense of weakness so that he couldn't move... and tubes and injections... and the blood transfusion... waking up to a whole right hand side of lacerations... and that chest wound... but none of that... but that was nothing compared to what had gone on in the stasis pod...

He felt embarrassed by it. The pod had been under research so he knew there had to be a vid about somewhere that Rodney, Carson, Woolsey and Lorne must have watched over and over to try and figure out what exactly had gone wrong. He wished he could ask that they destroy it before they filed it away with others. He wished it could be destroyed like the one of the day when Todd had fed on him...

Carson patted him on the shoulder. "Your hearing should settle down!" The doc bellowed.

"Ok," and he winced as his ears popped again.

And Woolsey said something that Sheppard didn't catch. Wasn't meant to? Couldn't lip read. Couldn't gauge the feeling behind the remark. And Carson replied and glanced back at Sheppard. Ok. That look he knew. They wanted him to continue with the shrink again...

His nightmares had returned with a vengeance. And he glanced down at the half-hidden wound beneath his scrubs. Psychosomatic. Carson had written the word out for him. A slash to his chest that was self-induced simply by thinking it, simply by believing it could be true. This was worse than the time when he'd met up with hallucinatory Kolya. This was a real wound. They had every right to check out he wasn't mad, to check he could continue to command. If some mechanism could take hold, take control of him... Woolsey had every right to check this out... sure he did... and Sheppard had looked to Teyla... and she'd turned away... and he was shut up in this silent world and couldn't explain... and they couldn't explain back... but could only say... the machine had gone wrong and Rodney couldn't work out why...

He could have died. That was all real enough. How could he imagine stuff and actually have died? And he looked at Ronon, and Ronon nodded back. He'd seen them all die. In the most horrific way. In the most horrific _real_ way. He'd been so convinced they had. And coming round, he'd been stunned, shocked to discover, they hadn't, that they were all in one piece. Yeah, they had very right to doubt his sanity - even if the stasis pod had been responsible.

He'd now earned himself a twenty-four hour guard at his bed. They were thinking that someone was out to get him. Teyla had written this down for him on a large note pad. Neat writing. Teyla had written that the pod must have been sabotaged and that someone was trying to kill him.

Rodney had scoffed, grabbed the pad and pen, impatiently ripped off the first page and then quickly scrawled after her: 'if I can't figure out what went wrong, how could anyone else have worked out how to make the pod malfunction?' Genius that he was.

They had talked and argued among themselves and Sheppard had sat there, in his bed, dumb, in the centre of it all. Rodney, eventually took pity on him and scribbled some more:

'How could anyone devise a programme that actually caused you to _think_ a wound?'

Ronon then said something. Something short.

And Rodney, exasperated and more cross than ever, had written again: 'It's just one of those things.'

Woolsey took over the pad, using small precise block capitals.

'A coincidence? After all the other incidents?'

And Ronon had surprised everyone by wanting a turn with the pen. His writing large, but weirdly ornate.

'We're cursed.' And returned the pad triumphantly to Rodney as if what he'd put down pretty much concluded the discussion.

And they all stared at him. Probably amazed he could write English Earth script. Come to think of it, Sheppard didn't even know he could either... Then Rodney had tossed the pad on the bed, had thrown up his arms in despair and had walked off...

-oAo-

While all around men screamed, this one sat. Strong and silent.

While homes crackled from the fires and smoke clogged night skies where the Darts'

high pitched whines shattered all sanity, this one sat, legs folded, hands limp in his lap, eyes closed.

He offered nothing in the way of resistance as the Wraith High Commander stooped to lift up the human's chin. He remained motionless, apart from slowly opening his eyes, as if from deep sleep. Even his calm expression did not alter. It was as if the Wraith and all the mayhem were not there.

And as hungry as the Commander was, he abstained from feeding.

'You do not fear me?'

The man simply shrugged, 'what is fear but a prison of our minds?'

As hungry as he was, he did not, and could not feed. He needed fear to satiate his hunger. Or he needed defiance. This was neither. And he granted the human, Fini, and those that survived in his village, their lives and freedom.

Todd ash Luyten knew that this human, gifted as he was, could help him with his present… conundrum when no other being could. Though, he admitted, options were slender in that regard as Todd trusted so very few of their kind. Correction, he only trusted three... and then in varying degrees.

He had visited Fini many times since that day when he had spared the human, but not recently, for he felt that he had learned all there was to learn concerning the use of his mind, and had sharpened his powers, achieving independence from his tutor. For that was what Fini had become.

Now, however, Todd ash Luyten found his capabilities sadly lacking.

Fini, on his last visit had shaken his head, smiling. 'The whole object of meditation is not to master greater control of others' minds.'

As far as Todd ash Luyten was concerned, it was the _whole_ point.

'I have no wish to ascend!' Todd had rumbled loudly back at him. He could never quite comprehend why Fini always made him so defensive. It should be the reverse. It was still in his power to take Fini's life whenever he so pleased.

This was his respect for Fini? Him? A Wraith? Respect for a human? Ha!

In all the time that Todd ash Luyten had known Fini, the man had changed very little in appearance. Bald, shaven by choice, wearing, always, it seemed, the same indiscriminate coloured cloth robe and simple sandals that had become, in effect, a uniform of his position of guidance and healing in his community. Even the wrinkles that creased his broad round face had not significantly deepened and belied his – how old was the human? He should perhaps enquire? Again, ha! That he should be so concerned.

Fini was tending to his vegetable plot when the Commander came upon him, his appearance in the village sending its inhabitants fleeing into their dwellings. An understandable reaction to the glowering looks of his Wraith escort who guarded the approach to Fini's tiny wooden dwelling.

Todd ash Luyten paced up and down the small wicket fence, irritated with the human for making him wait, insisting it was first necessary to finish the hoeing of something ferny. He shivered at the thought that humans actually lived on these plants for sustenance, and sucked hard at the extra drool his glands produced against an incipient wave of nausea.

But Fini was delaying him! When he had such pressing matters to attend to! And he snarled impatiently at the human but waited all the same, swatting at a butterfly that teased at his hair, wiping the mess of its squashed remains on the garden gate.

'You concern yourself too much with image. This is ego.' Fini had once said. Yes true. And Todd ash Luyten was well aware how incongruous he was looking in this setting of human domesticity. His second-in-command hated these trips here, saw them as demeaning and questioned always their wisdom. And so Todd ash Luyten often came alone. He could concentrate better that way.

But only Fini could possibly have his effect on him. To strip him of his power and authority. Respect. Teacher and pupil. Yes. Just so. Respect…

Fini had even sometimes called him _duedor_. Scholar. And joked, 'why are you both my worse and best student ever?'

But there was pupil respect too. Fini accepted Todd ash Luyten for what he _was_. And expected little from him.

"You will take tea?" asked Fini, when he had eventually completed his work and had cleaned and stowed away his hoe. And sometimes, yes, Todd ash Luyten had accepted a cup on other days, conceding that the concoction of herbs had something of a relaxant effect, but today... Today, he was in too much of a hurry – and tense too. Effort. Effort to perpetually block _them_. 'They' must not know he is here.

"No time!" he hissed out. If he were to say too much, if he lost even the slightest degree of control, the Forfallen would know of intentions.

Once they had entered the cottage, Fini offered him a seat at the highly scrubbed wooden kitchen table

"Oh, you have all the time under the stars," said Fini, before turning his back to make his brew at his little iron stove.

"No. No, I do not. And stop. You must stop that. I need your undivided attention!" his voice boomed throughout the cottage, shaking the low rafters and thatch above them.

"Commander, are you sick?" enquired Fini, turning round, face wide open with surprise. And then... he fell silent, scanning that part of the mind that Todd ash Luyten offered him.

"Evil," he whispered as he comprehended the pictures that the Wraith permitted him to access.

'_Yes,'_ thought back Todd ash Luyten in the way that Fini had taught him.

'_Evil. Evil of a sin committed? Your own sin? No... Evil born of hatred. Of revenge. Oh, but this goes much, much deeper? The… Forfallen. They reveal themselves, at last. I have heard of their mischief. And you come to me for assistance? I am not so sure..._' and he dropped down onto one of his wooden chairs leaving his kettle, clearly concerned.

'_I am nearly there,'_ thought Todd ash Luyten as he begun to pace the small space of the kitchen.

'_I know. And you have been a most excellent student. Even though your motives have been questionable. But now... they have actually permitted you to see them?'_

'_They toy with me!'_ Even in his mind, he snarled with the sheer frustration of it all, lowering his guard against Ef Xo. _She must not know I am here!_ His vehemence startled Fini but this was his current mantra for bolstering up his defence against the Forfallen.

'_They let me see so much and then no more. I need to destroy them, Fini. They need to be destroyed. And I... I…_' he stammered. Stammered? In truth? And felt shame at his inner admission of weakness.

'_Balance, Commander. Good will come and offer balance. You must not interfere.'_

'_Good has never balanced this evil in ten thousand years! These... things are outside your philosophy! You see that even now I protect you by building a wall!'_

'_There is little need. I am not afraid to die.'_

'_Do not be so naive! If they know why I am here, if they trace you... you will never ascend. They will suck and strip your soul to nothing but dust.'_ And he sensed the cold shiver run down the human's spine, though Todd ash Luyten had no desire to affect him this way, but Fini needed to be warned.

'_Legend has it, they may be destroyed only by their victim. I believe this may be John Sheppard but I am, as yet, uncertain.'_

'_John Sheppard?' _

And he frowned… And Todd ash Luyten sensed then something there in Fini's mind that he could not read, that stirred at the mention of the Colonel's name.

'_This is so. We are to meet again at a conferred meeting between Atlantis and Wraith. It is my plan to shield him and to take him to the Forfallen. But I am finding that as we approach the designated planet, as we draw closer, their own strength to repel me increases – they see that I mean to interfere.' _

Fini appeared to reflect on this with some reluctance.

'_But to kill is sin,'_ he murmured, gazing out through the cottage window.

'_Fini. You pull out your weeds. These too are weeds, tenacious, that root and choke. They have control over one of my Queens. They tighten their grip of her day by day, as one of you parasitic vines, twisting the very soul out of her, claiming her, claiming to procure what she desires when they fully suffocate her spirit. From this one conquest, they can gain perhaps a hundredfold,'_ and he waved his hands in the air to demonstrate the sheer magnitude of the problem, _'an untold number - there is no science in all the universe that can calculate the power that they will acquire for themselves. They need eradicating forever and I can... only achieve so much. I need some form of extra defence, to enter their world undetected, to discover their plans, to verify that their intended target is, in fact, John Sheppard. I need also to bolster my own powers. Fini,' _he faced the human with an earnest expression, hoping that by admitting his shortcomings so frankly, he could convince Fini of his sincerity, _'I turn to you for help.'_

Fini looked up to him, _'I am afraid that I have taught you all I know. But I see that you are determined, my duedor, what… to save Pegasus?' _

Todd ash Luyten felt taken aback. Though he should not be so surprised that Fini should question his motives, considering the ideals the man lived by.

'_Ultimately, this may be so.'_ Knowing that Fini would see his primary aim was only to save Wraith.

'_How exemplary of you,'_ and Fini allowed a wry smile. _'Even though it might mean your destruction - and so too John Sheppard's, no doubt.'_

'_I hope to avoid it._'

'_And you will have to convince John Sheppard to accompany you – if he has not already fallen prey to the Forfallen.'_

'_John Sheppard will not refuse me. This is his life we will be saving – and as you say – all those in Pegasus also.'_ How could he possibly say no? _'And I am well aware that I must_ _not delay in reaching him. Speed in this matter is essential.'_

Fini stood sighing. _'Duty. Purpose. All commendable.'_ And Todd ash Luyten could sense that struggle again in the recesses of Fini's mind that seemed foreign to a human usually so tranquil and composed. And yet the Wraith could not decipher its meaning or form.

'_John Sheppard. Your paths cross again. It is perhaps then destiny that brings you once again to my doorstep. Would you consider wearing a talisman?'_

'_A talisman?'_

'_Yes.'_ And he smiled again._ 'In effect, a lucky charm.'_

'_Yes. Yes. A talisman,'_ agreed Todd ash Luyten eagerly, with some relief that Fini was so easily persuaded. Fini seemed to understand exactly what was required. Trust. Respect. He had seen that Todd ash Luyten had spoken nothing but truth. And from the heart? Yes. Yes. Todd ash Luyten had to admit this... from the heart, yes, indeed.

Fini turned away from the table, face set hard, resolved to do this though it must be in opposition to all his life's principles.

'_Come.'_

They entered his small back room, his room of healing, where Todd ash Luyten had spent many hours intolerant of the uncomfortable kneeling position imposed on him. Trust. Respect. He trusted this human with his life? For many times, he had been so trance-like, Fini could easily have slit his throat or have allowed in others to do it for him.

Shelves of jars and bottles of various potions and creams faced them on one of the walls. The human reached for a stool, climbed it and standing, teetering on its edge, he first stretched for one earthenware jar and then selected a small leather bound casket, covered in dust and cobwebs, passing them both to Todd ash Luyten. He clambered down, and taking the containers from the Commander's hands, he placed them on a counter. The casket, he brushed clean with a hand and then carefully opened it, pulling out a pendant from a lining cloth of faded purple. And he passed the pendant, possessing a large dewdrop shaped blue stone, swinging it on its chain, for Todd ash Luyten to examine.

'_You must have known,'_ thought Fini quietly, _'perhaps you must have known, unconsciously, of its existence. It has simply been waiting for the right moment. I feel its heat stirring even now.'_

'_Time for balance?_' nodded Todd ash Luyten, knowingly.

'_It is often the way of things,'_ sighed Fini again, _'that balance requires a helping hand._ _Regretfully, its powers are not yet complete. I was given this many years ago but had no belief in its effectiveness and so abandoned it. And I thought… do not mind my ramblings…' _

Those thoughts again… more tangible… and Todd ash Luyten snatched at them… '_time is now…two halves…' _nothing more than a fragments… their meaning lost to him…

'_It really was so long ago… but I have often thought… How can something so... physical have any power? The mind,_' and he tapped his forehead, _'power lies within the mind. But one must never doubt even magic and miracles, for doubt is the crack in reason. And so, my duedor, it may need more work. It requires coaxing, persuading, moulding to do your bidding.'_

'_How much?'_

'_It is never quantity, Commander. You know that. Always measure by quality. Deep, deep thought. Which may be supplemented by this...'_ and he pushed the earthenware jar towards Todd ash Luyten, _incense. Burn this. It will help you to... see too. Be careful. It is very potent. The cloth is supposedly imbibed with its own special powers to reduce the power from leeching out. 'They' should not detect either of these for as long as they are in their containers. Once outside, it is very much down to you. Concentrate on the pendant. Replenish its properties. It had them once, I have been told. But possibly, due to my neglect, it has lost its purpose. Belief, yes…'_

And there it was again… another memory that entered Fini's mind unbidden and instantly driven away… _it is your duty, purpose to wait, however long it may take…_

'_Both are made from Noquolon, a form of Naquadah, but much, much rarer. Go now. Go about your business,'_ he abruptly thought, bustling the pendant back into its casket and returning it to the Wraith.

'_Do not listen to these tales of an old man. Do not waste time a moment longer,_' and Fini was pushing him towards the door, with the cheer that humans display toward their friends, or a parent human towards a child. _'I wish you good fortune, Todd ash Luyten, and will be praying for you,_' he finally thought, waving to the Commander from his door.

'_Your prayers,'_ and Todd ash Luyten hesitated with the words that were so alien to him, _'your prayers will give me strength, I know this.'_

'_It is belief in yourself that gives you strength.'_

And Todd ash Luyten huffed a laugh. _'I will make a Wraith of you yet, Fini.'_

-oAo-

A long descending spiralling tunnel takes Illum to the lower level. The Wraith have internal transporters but as he does not carry the Wraith DNA, they are closed to him. These tunnels, they use for heavy goods he has been told. He sprints full pelt but stops from time to time, to check for the cries, to be guided by their origin, to ensure he exits from the correct opening. He is breathless. His heart beats fast. The stench of the ship is steadily becoming more intense. The mist is thicker and further dims the lamps set in the muscle of the walls. The mist is thicker and writhes and twists around him. It's as if... as if some animal has swallowed him whole... These tunnels are like the giant intestines of some beast. The cries continue carried on the mists, muffled, the cries of those about to be digested.

A nightmare of a place. And dare he go on?

This is his family? Why are they even there? If not, Illum's family, why did someone call his name? Why has his Master forbidden him to enter this section of the ship? Why has his Master forbidden him, kept these things secret from him, when he talks of nothing but trust?

Dare he go on to discover the truth?

He rounds the final corner as the floor levels and the light increases.

He slows, to steady, to quieten his footsteps and keeps close, hugging the walls, not wishing to be seen.

But he won't ever be heard above the cries and shouts of his fellow humans. He shivers. His eyes are wide, shocked by the horror of what he is seeing. Of what he is hearing. This is a nightmare of a place where there is nothing but torment and pain and suffering.

A long, wide corridor that must run the full length of the ship. And inset into its walls, are recesses where humans are bound by what appears to be the entrails of some gutted beast. Only their faces and upper chests are visible. Only their faces screwed up in the agony of the life... no, not the agony of the life but the agony of the death, they are enduring. Only their chests are exposed where an open wound bleeds out their despair.

It is curious. But they are all old. So very old. Which one of these called out his name?

Wraith and Drones move about. They appear to be busy, working. But from time to time, one raises a hand - that right hand with its appearance of a wound - to the chest of a prisoner. They are being healed? His Master had healed Illum. Perhaps this is a hospital? But he knows it can't possibly be. The stench tells him otherwise. This is a nightmare place of death. The way a prisoner cries out, twists in pain, aging as if more than a century old, tells him otherwise. Sometimes a prisoner is left as dust, a grey husk and eyes stare wide seeing terror when all life has left them.

The way that a Wraith roars triumphant tells Illum this is a place of death. It is not the ship that devours its victims, but the Wraith themselves.

His Master is among their number. His Master shares all their guilt.

Illum moves out of his hiding place too numb to care. Alone, without weapons, he is powerless to stop this carnage. It would be better if they killed him. If they have killed his family this way, but spared him, he would not want to live with this knowledge, with this memory.

His Master sees him. His Master is about to feed on some poor soul but withdraws his hand. He is ashamed of what he has done. He is ashamed that Illum has seen him this way.

He approaches Illum. And other Wraith, other Wraith are snarling at Illum and would kill him, or place him in one of the recesses, but they make a path for the Commander.

"I never wanted you to see this. I... I was protecting you, Illum."

"Why?" But his question is nothing more than a hoarse whisper, cut off by the shriek of another.

"Illum! Illum! Where are you, Illum?"

The voice is of that of a woman, Illum thinks. But the way that her hair is thin and matted, the way that her skin is stretched tight and taut over her scalp, the way her skin is wrinkled and aged, she has lost all femininity and he cannot tell.

Illum stands before her. Pity overwhelms him. There is no recognition in her eyes. And he does not recall her either.

"Is she..." the question sticks in his throat and tears start to well, "is she... my wife?"

"No, Illum, she is not," says his Master, coming to his side, face peering into his, his expression full of sympathy. "Your family is not here. They are safe. Please understand Illum, this… this is our food." And the Wraith is keen, eager for that understanding. He knows that Illum condemns him. "Why, Illum, this is little different to humans slaughtering their sheep."

"I do not remember. But I am sure, that if I were to kill for food, I would do so more humanely." And Illum turns on his Master, feeling anger now.

"Do not dare to judge me!" demands his Master, his voice rising. And then he is more conciliatory. "Come now, Illum, come now, I do not feed on you." He tries to make humour of this nightmare. And those Wraith who have remained in the area, those who haven't wandered off bored, snarl in Illum's direction, in anticipation of a change of his Master's mind, hoping to feed on Illum after all.

"But I am your prisoner," says Illum.

"No. No, you are not," assures the Wraith.

"But if I were to rescue these people, you would prevent me," says Illum, turning to the woman once more.

"Yes. I would have to prevent you. It is our way, Illum. I could do no other."

Illum stares at the woman who now appears to be sleeping.

"She called my name but it was not me she called, was it? You chose my name for me. When I lost my memory. You chose the name of a dead man. Huh, and it means 'friend'." He now hates his Master for the murder of his kind, and for this also. He feels choked. His hands form fists at his side. But he is powerless to fight. Is he a coward not to fight? Wouldn't it be as well to fight his Master, to die fruitlessly, than to have these memories? He's longed for memories but wishes for none like these that will burn his mind forever.

"Yes, I confess it. I chose the name uttered from this woman's lips. I thought it appropriate. Please, Illum..." the Wraith raises a hand and drives away the remaining Wraith with the gesture. He holds his head to one side as he searches Illum's face, uncertain. "This... does not change things."

"It changes everything," says Illum bitterly.

"I know that you feel anger. I know sufficient of you, to know that you would want to take my life over this. But Illum, believe me when I say, what you are about to do, what _we_ are about to do _together_, will save _all_ of your kind. It will make amends, believe me."

Illum makes no reply. He is still seething with hatred. He still wants to destroy the whole ship but feels so frustrated that he can do nothing. He is only one man alone.

"Please, trust me that I speak truth," continues his Master.

Illum still makes no reply. He can wait. Bide his time. Make plans.

"Illum. I could order your death. Yet I do not. You disobeyed me by coming here and yet I do not take your life. Let this be proof that what I am saying is truth. Proof that you may trust me."

"I will do as you command, Master. I will go with you to Forfallen." And perhaps find his chance to escape. "Do not ever ask me to do more than that. Do not ever ask me to trust you." And Illum turns and leaves.

-oAo-

A message had been received from Todd and the fleet of ally Wraith, notifying Atlantis of their arrival on the designated planet in five days for the big Alliance meeting. (With a post script attached asking how Lt. Col. John Sheppard was feeling – which was nothing short of weird and really none of Todd's damn business. His idea of a joke?) Todd had always warned them there might be renegade Wraith who would stop at nothing to prevent the grand get-together. So when one isolated Cruiser turned up, Atlantis was ready, having completed scores of daily drills to prepare themselves. It'd be stupid not to up their security footing a couple of notches considering Atlantis' general mistrust of Wraith and all things Todd, without this new threat. They were expecting two or three bigwigs to gate in from Earth shortly to supervise the alliance proceedings anyhow. Gotta look after those guys.

Though the first indication of Wraith presence, had been the sudden appearance of a half dozen Darts, screeching round the South Towers - the Cruiser had had the ability to cloak and had materialised just within firing range.

Ten minutes of Sheppard in the Chair and it was all over for the Wraith, wreckage and debris, hissing and steaming, hitting the sea, or setting off a half dozen fires at the outer perimeters of the city.

Sheppard lay back in the Chair, breathing heavily, eyes closed, hardly believing the silence in his head now it was over.

Keller had set him lose early again. Lorne had been hospitalised with septicaemia following a cut received from the shattered stasis pod and Sheppard had convinced her he was the only man to replace the Major. He'd got the usual – stitches that he had to be careful with – heck, the scars he was accumulating here – like some freaky tattoos - and sitting in the Chair, he continued to experience the dull ache - a sort of ghost pain, he guessed - at his chest from where the not-real-Iratorian had fed on him. And Sheppard felt... he wasn't ready. This sortie with the Wraith had proven it... he'd been slow... he'd been too damn slow latching onto his targets, and he made a mental note to get in even more simulations with Rodney.

Keep busy. This was how he was going to cope with those… other scars.

Pat Cornwell sort of agreed but had pointed out, 'you're sweeping things under the proverbial carpet.'

'I'm not,' he'd retorted, 'I'm just not going to let it beat me.'

'Think positive, yes, I can see that.' But he also had her stamp of approval in the way he drove aside bad thoughts of his team by concentrating on those little things, in the way that Teyla smiled, in the way that Ronon slouched in a chair with his kick-ass attitude, in the way Rodney talked too fast and too much… the way they lived and breathed… yeah, think positive…

"_Well done, Colonel,"_ confirmed Woolsey's crisp voice from the Control Room. _"All targets have been taken out."_

The vid screen above his head had told him that but he remained sitting there, quiet, listening to nothing but the beating of his own heart.

He was still linked to the comm. system and heard Woolsey over his earpiece, asking for damage reports. Rodney reeled off the stats. Lieutenant Mellors sent out men to extinguish the fires that had broken out, to commence mop up operations. All routine, standard procedure.

But something didn't feel right...

"Anyone else getting a bad feeling about this?" asked Sheppard suddenly, up righting the Chair.

"_Curses aside, no,"_ said Rodney, who was never going to let that one go. _"We're sending out a signal as we speak to inform Todd and his fleet, asking that perhaps he should keep his renegade Wraith under more control and not let them loose on us, um?"_

"It was all too easy."

"_What is this, sixth sense? Not used to good luck, uh, Sheppard?"_ Yeah, he hadn't been injured for a whole week now, and had even felt confident enough that they'd be no more attacks on his person, that he'd fired his 'bodyguard'.

"They were _cloaked_, Rodney," and that didn't come under his definition of good luck.

"_Where did they get that technology from? Or our location? From Todd?"_ queried Woolsey. _"I know that he did warn us, but that fact might have been some of ruse? To check our defences perhaps? You think it's right to trust him?"_

"I dunno..."

"_And now we're letting him approach PJ6 2WS?"_ Woolsey questioned further._ "With a fleet of hives not far behind? Perhaps we should call a halt to the talks until we can get to the bottom of this?" _

Sheppard climbed out of the Chair, his hand still pressed close to his earpiece.

"We've carried out sweeps for Wraith life signs?" The Control Tower team must have done. Mellors and his teams wouldn't have been allowed out otherwise, not without these preliminaries. And Teyla would have said something too.

"_Yes, Colonel!"_ confirmed Rodney impatiently, emphasizing the rank, as if talking down to him like some junior in his science team. And that irked. But Rodney had also picked up the worry that had crept into in his voice.

"_What's with the paranoia?"_

Is that what it was?

A split second and his head carried an image of an Iratorian. A black, clawed Iratorian that made a noise like... clicking... and he instantly pushed it away as nothing more than a bad memory, looking to the walls around him. But he couldn't deny it, he was going through one of those creepy Atlantis-talking-to-him moments... the same way a jet might tell him something before an engine played up... or fighting Wraith when he just knew one of bastards was sitting there in his blind spot... like now…

"I'm coming back to you," he decided, "but tell Mellors and his men to be careful."

"_Colonel?"_ And he could imagine Woolsey raising an eyebrow at that and believing he'd finally gone cranky.

And it suddenly came to him. "They were cloaked and have never been cloaked before, so why can't each individual Wraith be cloaked too?"

_"Sir!"_ It was Mellors. And the noise of gunfire.

"_Sheppard!"_ Ronon.

"_Scores of them!"_ Screamed the leader of another team.

And Teyla shouting. _"We are surrounded!"_

-oAo-


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The crackcrack of gunfire was still loud in Sheppard's earpiece as he headed for the door, making mental plans, forming questions that needed answers pretty damn quickly. Here, alone, in the Chair Room, he suddenly felt out of the loop but he knew that each of the teams out there, were probably more than capable of clearing out the Wraith without his input.

Or not.

Mellors was shouting a warning that wasn't clear.

"Lieutenant! Repeat that! Copy."

No reply.

He frowned. It'd help if he had an idea of the numbers they were dealing with, the areas where the Wraith were concentrated and he was getting zilch intel back from the teams. He scooted through the exit, when...

Crap...

And froze.

Ahead of him. One lone Wraith.

Emerging from a side corridor, but by turning left, had his back to Sheppard and was making his way along the same corridor, in the same direction. Limping. Hurt probably. Dangerous therefore, wanting to feed in order to heal faster.

But it obviously hadn't heard Sheppard, which was weird. Wraith hearing, he knew, was so acute, it was nearly like a sixth sense. Sheppard daren't move, daren't breathe, daren't produce that 'boot on the twig' scenario that would make the Wraith turn and discover him. He didn't dare respond either to all the messages coming over his earpiece. Everyone was busy. This one Wraith was down to him then.

And the odds were pretty even if they were both injured.

With distance between them now, Sheppard darted into the side corridor and peered round its corner to watch, easing his gun slowly out of its holster, putting down all thoughts of the pull on his stitches. With only the berretta, no way did he have enough firepower to kill the Wraith outright. He'd simply make the thing a little… annoyed. But if he could take this Wraith alive, they stood a chance of getting a few questions answered. Like… how did the cloaking technology work? Or… whether Todd was behind this. So, it was going to be more a case of keeping tabs on the Wraith, until someone was freed up to help him out.

The Wraith seemed to know exactly where he was aiming for, and coming to a halt before a transporter, swiped a hand over the control panel, entering after a few seconds of impatiently waiting for the door to open.

Sheppard sprinted for the door once it'd closed, tapping furiously at his earpiece.

"Rodney! I've just had a Wraith on my floor! Tell me where he went, and then tell me how the hell he was able to use a transporter!"

The Wraith must have had some sort of DNA imprinting carried out on his palm. It was the only explanation as Sheppard hadn't seen any sign of a device being used. And it wasn't good if Wraith now had this capability along with the cloaking.

"_We've been trying to warn you! He's now heading for Tower A6, next door_," came the immediate reply. He guessed one of his unanswered incoming calls must have been from Rodney. And then, he heard Radek in the background, querying the information.

"_The accommodation tower? Why would he go there?"_

And Rodney chipped in again, _"Why didn't he go to the Chair Room? He was nearly there!"_

"Yeah, and tell me about that too," agreed Sheppard.

"_Not that we wanted you to be in any danger or anything. Rhetorical question, there. Sorry."_

"He's injured, perhaps he's not thinking straight. Perhaps he didn't know he was so close, but he seems to know whole damn lot about us, like using the transporters. I'm going to follow to see what he's up to."

"_Colonel?"_ It was Woolsey. _"That's Ronon's area. Let him take care of it. I seem to recall you are armed with only your sidearm and you are still technically under the care of Dr. Keller."_

"Ronon's got his hands full," said Sheppard, entering the transporter, thinking his destination into the controls.

"_Oh, stop with the hero, Sheppard and wait for backup,"_ said Rodney._ "One lone Wraith isn't going to do much. We can possibly pick him up on video."_

"Yeah. One lone Wraith. So I should be ok. I want to know what these guys are planning. If they were cloaked before, why not now?" he asked, as the transporter door closed on him.

"_It's possible the energy source to sustain their cloaks might have depleted... though... careful, John. It might be a trap."_ And Sheppard hated it when Rodney called him John. It meant be careful in a certain way.

"Yeah. Careful. My middle name."

He heard Rodney snort as he thought to hold the door shut. He wasn't ready yet to make his way out into the corridor beyond.

White noise in his earpiece, then, that suddenly let up as Mellors reported in that he'd dealt with his area resulting in five dead Wraith and no Atlantis casualties.

"Mellors? You done? Check for booby traps. Explosives. Detonators. Spread the word. This has all the feel of some suicide mission. Over."

"_Will do, Colonel. Over."_

He flipped back to Rodney, checking his handgun, gripping it tight between two hands, prepping himself in case the Wraith was still close by. Tense. Breathing more deeply than he cared to admit.

"Is the area outside of the transporter clear?"

"_The Wraith made a right turn out of the transporter, took the first flight up, and then exited out of a maintenance door onto an outside inspection gangway. Why?"_ Another of those rhetorical questions. He could imagine Rodney's brain trying to figure out the thousand and one reasons why and possibly coming up with blanks. Sheppard could imagine that because he was pretty much doing the same thing.

"And it doesn't lead to anywhere?"

"_There's no access to anything but bracing sea air. So we'll conclude he's gone up there for his health, huh?"_ sighed Rodney.

Because... why go to a dead end? None of this was making any sense.

He thought the door open, tapping for Teyla as he made his way up the staircase. Two at a time at first, but with pain shooting off from the cuts on his right side, he was forced to slow down the pace. Slowing down helped too with willing his feet to be noiseless on the metal – he gotta keep quiet and he lowered his question to Teyla to a near silent hiss. "I know you're still busy," the sound of gunfire at her end was so loud he wasn't even sure that she heard, "but can you pick up _anything, _anything at all, on why these Wraith are here?"

With this one Wraith wandering around like this, it couldn't be a straightforward attack on Atlantis. There was something more purposeful about their mission.

"_I am sorry, John. Nothing is accessible."_ She couldn't possibly concentrate, he knew that.

He reached the maintenance door and pressed a shoulder up close to listen. Like he'd hear anything if the Wraith lay in wait on the other side. Crap... what the hell was going on? He frowned again. And he was doing a helluva lot of frowning lately.

"Are you sure there's nothing out here?" he asked Rodney. "Power cables? Because why is there even a gangway?"

"_I dunno! Decorating? Cleaning windows? Stargazing? Bungee jumping." _

"_Be careful, Colonel,"_ repeated Woolsey, cutting Rodney off in full sarcasm, _"I really believe it would be prudent to wait for assistance… in view of…"_ and the Atlantis Commander trailed off.

In view of the jinx. Yeah, he knew that.

"Whatever he's doing, he's doing it _now,"_ and Sheppard slowly pushed at the door, holding his breath, as near as praying as he ever got. "You guys are gonna keep me filled in? I'm maintaining radio silence from my end."

"_It's too risky,"_ urged Woolsey, with his earlier caution.

"You ordering me to stand down?" he breathed out. When nothing had grabbed him. When no Wraith had loomed black and large in his vision.

"_It might be a trap, specifically for you."_ He knew that Woolsey meant well.

"It's only one and I've got him cornered."

"_Yes, and you know what they say about cornered beasts."_

"_It's happening again!"_ yelled Rodney down the radio suddenly, instead of giving him the exact whereabouts of the Wraith. He wished Rodney would concentrate.

"What?"

"_No one thinking rationally. The Wraith. You." _

"You repeating the idea of an outside influence?" he whispered loudly. And he was sure that wasn't happening here, he was sure he was doing this off his own bat with no auto-suggestion. He was sure that he was thinking straight. That what he was doing was no different to how he would have reacted a couple of months ago.

"Now isn't the time-"

"_No, no, I'm not! How can it?"_ wailed Rodney over his earpiece, sounding desperate with his own personal dilemma, driven into a corner of his very own, when something said one thing but black and white explanations and the laws of physics were saying another.

"I'll be ok. Like I've said, I have him backed up. He has nowhere to go to escape to."

Except by falling. And Sheppard was reminded of Michael. And the grisly remains they'd had to clear up below the main tower. But Michael had been in flight. In panic as much as Michael could ever be said to be in panic. Whatever this Wraith was doing was planned and calculated. Sheppard was reminded of what he'd said a minute ago, about a suicide mission...

He pushed open the door fully, steadying himself. And held that gun of his tighter than ever.

The gangway ran on for thirty feet with a couple of steps at the mid-point taking it a foot or two higher. It disappeared in a curve round a circular prominence some forty feet high to Sheppard's right, looking like it formed the space above a staircase of the adjacent tower. Beyond that was all the paraphernalia of a tower top. Aerials, struts, overhangs, arches, wires, pipes, air conditioner outlets, various tanks.

Everywhere to hide but nowhere to go. Unless the Wraith wanted to return via this door.

He looked up. Above him, rose half the height of the Control Tower and no means to climb up there.

"Where is he?" he whispered again.

"_Nothing's clear! He sort of goes in and out_." Well, that was scientific. _"His cloaking must be malfunctioning. Now, he's... he's sort of... 'out,' _said Rodney lamely.

"Just keep me posted," he muttered, blinking against the sheer height, resigned to the fact that this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

"_You are so not going to be bait and flush him out!"_ squawked Rodney over the radio.

"Radio silence," he reminded Rodney, edging out a fraction onto the gangway. He hadn't planned that anyhow. He hadn't really got any plan in mind. Go with the flow. See what panned out. Maybe he could get lucky and get a visual on the Wraith when he was 'in'.

He shivered, and squinted against the cold brisk wind that whistled through the thick steel mesh of the flooring, that snagged at his combats and at his hair, and fought back the threatening wave of giddiness from an instinctive glance down. Below was a sheer drop of thirty feet to a ledge a good four feet wide, that ran round the circumference of the whole tower. And below that, was a straight precipice of several hundred feet of composite. Sheppard could make out the tiers of accommodation balconies further round but there was no means to readily access them from here.

He hadn't quite let go of the door, when a sudden gust wrenched it from his hand and slammed it shut.

Sheppard froze at the metallic bang. So much for radio silence.

"_Sheppard! Sheppard!"_

It had to have sounded like a missile going off. No wonder Rodney was having kittens.

"Ok," he said low, when he'd dared breath again, checking every part of the tower top ahead of him for that familiar dark shape.

He reached back for the door handle with his free left hand, wriggling the lever behind him, keeping his eyes fixed on the other end of the gangway.

Several tries told him it was stuck fast. Probably seized up with the cold and salt air.

Crap…

He nestled back into the doorframe mindful that it was his only means to conceal himself unless he crossed over to the far side of the exposed gangway. He'd stay here and play a waiting game. Sheppard would get back up within ten minutes he guessed – and some help to return through the door.

He turned his head away from the wind, held his breath again and listened. Nothing, except the distant heave and swell of the sea foaming against the piers far below. It figured he guessed. That not only would the Wraith be gone from view, but whatever shield was protecting it, gave the Wraith complete cover – sound included.

He licked his lips, tasting the salt from the damp sea air, conscious of his shirt prickling uncomfortably cold and clammy to his back and neck. It caught at his wounds too and he was conscious now just how much they smarted. He fidgeted his fingers on the hilt of his Beretta, fighting a stiffness that came from the need to relax. He couldn't.

Damn. He wasn't the only one playing a waiting game. And why did he get the nagging feeling that the Wraith was scoring more points? Perhaps he should have moved forward? But the commotion with the door had pretty much given away Sheppard's location and he'd lost the element of surprise. The Wraith would be healing and no way, could Sheppard even begin to weaken him or cripple him with his handgun alone. Damn. At least, trapped up here, the Wraith wouldn't be doing any damage to Atlantis. But the see- saw of thoughts continued in Sheppard's head because, damn again, the Wraith was watching him, he was sure of it.

Sheppard nearly hissed, starting at the sudden sound of Radek's low voice over the earpiece.

"_Colonel? I've pulled up Ancient schematics of Atlantis-" _

"_Your gangway links back to Tower A6-"_ joined in Rodney.

"_Disused duct,"_ interrupted Radek._ "You probably can't see it from your position. It once supported another walkway used as an emergency exit when Atlantis was first built."_

"_Records show a storm took off the framework and rather than fix it, they modified the database. Even the Ancients had a lazy streak, huh?... Sheppard?"_

Jumper bay.

He was already sprinting round the circular tower, the banging from his feet echoing all across the tower top, his head racing faster than he could drive his feet along - he didn't much care about keeping a low profile now - nor the cut of his stitches – he was going to have hell to pay from Jenny – but his priority was to get to the jumper bay.

And there it was ahead of him. Down a short metallic ladder to a small platform. The pipeline, pure white against the shimmering blue-grey of the sea. Fifteen feet long and just over two feet in diameter. It'd take a man. And a Wraith probably, judging by the way it was smeared with black Wraith blood. And across to the other side, a platform set into the shoulder of the jumper bay tower, supporting a series of hatches giving access to the interior.

"I see it!"

"_Colonel."_ Woolsey again_. "You are not to go across. We've just had word from Ronon. He's cleared his area and can be there in ten. I suggest you return back the way you came."_

"Yeah, and I can be there in less than that." He wasn't about to tell them the door was stuck fast and his hand was forced into heading in this direction. He was certain, anyhow, that this route was by far the quickest.

"_I repeat you have only a hand gun."_

"I can get weapons from a jumper."

He heard the Commander sigh.

"_Sheppard. We still can't place him. He'll still be shielded,"_ was Rodney's attempt at dissuading him.

"Then Ronon won't be much use either. We can't let him get a jumper. I'm busy now. Out." Yeah, he was terse. And probably too pig-headed for his own good. But he was right to do this. They'd lost a jumper to Michael once. The same thing could happen again. To a Wraith that had somehow managed to by-pass the ATA gene.

"_For God's sake Sheppard, you're still injured!"_

But he was already down the ladder, his back side down on the platform, his gun pushed into its holster, legs hanging off the end, one on either side of the pipe ready to shimmy across. Yeah, it'd be good to have a harness. Moisture, spray from the sea-air, run in rivulets round the body of the white pipe. Slippery or greasy were words that weren't going to come close to describing how tricky this was going to be. At least, the pipe had been constructed in two sections and held together at a thick seam running horizontally by bolts practically the size of his fist. It gave him somewhere to place his feet even if his hands had nothing to hold.

_Yeah. Piece of cake. Just don't look down. But... where else do you look?_

He took a deep breath, counted 'one' and set off, hauling himself along, hitching himself forward, knees in tight, horse-riding fashion, with his legs doing most of the work, placing both hands palms down and close together for grip and suction on top of the pipe.

'Two.'

The mental counting always worked... Like push ups... He could concentrate on that... and not the precipice below him. Nor the low howls of the wind reminding him of just how dangerous this height was.

'Three.'

'Four.'

Shit.

His left hand suddenly slipped, dropping his shoulder and he found himself hugging the pipe for dear life, seeing Atlantis, the sea, the sky, all at a crazy angle.

And hell, there went his stitches…

He gulped in giant draughts of air, the noise of the sea drowned by the sound of his heart pumping thunderous in his ears. Somehow, he recovered and pulled himself upright again.

His chest fairly throbbed now and the moisture that soaked his shirt was more than damp sea air…

And close. Too damn close to falling. Relieved, exhaling deeply, the count 'five' came with the world around feeling even less solid. He'd reached nearly halfway. And halfway felt his most vulnerable. The point where there was nothing but air and the pipe to support him... and air wasn't much.

This was a mistake. He knew that now, but there was no going back.

And this was crazy. Because now he was hearing the clicking again and he guessed it had to be down to his ears unable to adjust to the height, still recovering from the pod blast.

'Six.'

Do this quickly. He needed to do this quickly. Aware now of the cold, of the numbness in his fingers. And if he slipped now... well, at least, there was another lower ledge close to the tower… If he fell, there was a ledge for a safety net. It's all he had. It'll do. Be ready… if he fell…

_Won't fall. Just do it. Be positive._

'Seven.' Heaving though his side throbbed now.

Eight. And Nine. And ten, with only a five or six feet to go. Eleven. The sun broke out from behind a near-by tower ahead suddenly blinding him. It threw him. And he stopped again, losing momentum again. A serious mistake. Go quickly. Finish. Three feet to go.

One last pull.

And just as suddenly. A shadow. But no cloud.

The Wraith.

Standing over him. Blocking his way. Snarling. Holding a stunner directly pointing to the space between his eyes.

Sheppard shuffled back an inch. He daren't move other than that. Not even to breathe. Tense. Like waiting for a snake to strike...

Seconds. The beating of his heart… Should be dead. Should be dead. Should be dead.

Brace himself. Brace himself for either the stunner or... hell, the Wraith didn't even need to use the stunner - could just kick him off.

Watched as gnarled fingers twitched nervously at the trigger.

How... Mind racing. Too many thoughts. Hadn't heard the Wraith? Had been there all along, watching behind the safety of the shield. Cat and mouse. Not dead. Not dead. But what to do? What the hell could he do? Reaching for his handgun was impossible without letting go. Reaching for his gun was impossible with a stunner held to his face.

The Wraith was still injured. Hadn't healed. Blood oozed thick down its right shattered arm. But, even injured, at such close quarters, he couldn't miss...

But... Sheppard wasn't dead yet.

The Wraith stabbed at the air with his weapon immediately in front of Sheppard. Goading. More of the cat and mouse. And Sheppard had to try his damn hardest not to react. The Wraith, wheezed heavily, and its eyes glinted in some sort of sadistic pleasure, salivating on the thought of the thrill in taking Sheppard's life. Waiting. Waiting. Expectant, as if... by waiting long enough Sheppard might fall on his own - or die of hypothermia. Waiting, enjoying these last moments of Sheppard's life.

The words, 'finish it,' formed in Sheppard's mind, unbidden, but Sheppard drove them away. He was waiting too. Waiting. Waiting. For his chance to push himself up and tackle the Wraith. It was the only thing he could do though he knew he couldn't ever possibly be fast enough... the odds were stacked against him...

A sudden noise behind and the Wraith looked over his head. Sheppard moved but wasn't quick enough, soon finding the tip of the stunner back in his face.

This was stupid. This was a stupid position to be in and he had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who'd gone straight head long into this. What was wrong with him lately? It was like voices telling him to do the opposite of what made sense. Rodney saying: 'Why do we seem to making the wrong decision? Jumping the wrong way. Against all rationality.'

Footsteps and Ronon shouting, "back off!" Ronon with a handful of marines must have freed off the door.

Though there were no gunshots.

They couldn't let off anything to save Sheppard. The stunner shifted down to his throat, forcing Sheppard to pull his head back - any further and he was going to fall for sure. He could feel his grip loosening on the pipe. His back ached with the cold and the strain to keep his balance. His chest… his chest hurt on the outside - and inside… felt tight, too tight to breathe let alone shout into the wind.

"You don't give him what he wants! You hear!"

The Wraith sneered. "Ahhh, what do they expect to do?" he asked of Sheppard, and then threw a taunt across to Ronon, "you think to kill me when I could so easily take the life of your Colonel?" He flinched at the thought that the Wraith knew who he was. Though Sheppard was pretty damn sure they'd never met before.

But this was stalemate. Though if Ronon opened fire, Sheppard could take his chances. He was already eyeing up how he could throw himself over to the Wraith's space. With its injury, the Wraith's reflexes might be slow. Sheppard just needed that right moment.

"Take him," ordered Sheppard, in a voice too low. He daren't twitch those vocal chords pressed up so close to the stunner.

The marines and Ronon must have hesitated. Another mistake. In a split second, the Wraith tossed down the stunner, swiftly grabbed Sheppard by his shirt, how...? And bodily yanked him upwards, spinning him round, getting himself behind Sheppard to use him as a shield, how...? Holding its good arm firmly across Sheppard's chest and throat. Sheppard hissed as a knife nicked his neck in the move to this dizzying upright position, teetering, the tips of his boots hanging over the very edge.

In front of him, on the far end of the pipe, stood Ronon and his marines, all undecided what to do next.

And Sheppard, powerless, clamped by the arm of the Wraith couldn't tell them.

And what would he tell them?

Hell, this was just plain craziness to have allowed himself to be captured like this? He looked away. Unable to meet the eye of his men.

Sky. Sea. Smoke from Dart fires. Atlantis towers. What ever happened in the next minute, this was only going to end up bad.

Glancing sideways at the edge, and the drop down, and how close it all was, he caught sight of the discarded stunner. It'd been wrecked by rifle fire at some point and he'd allowed himself to be fooled by that? Allowed himself to be taken like this? How many wrongs can a guy make?

The Wraith breathed oily laughter against his cheek.

"You should have obeyed your Mr Woolsey while you had the chance, instead you have been lured up here!" he jeered. Heck, Sheppard didn't need telling.

"And it's all so pointless to try and protect him!" he shouted over to the marines. "You know why I am here?" he snarled into Sheppard's ear. "You know the reason for the assault on Atlantis today? It has nothing to do with the Alliance though I find that odious enough. It is simply to kill you, Colonel Sheppard."

And Sheppard watched as Ronon pushed forward one of the marines with a P90. Reynolds. Their best marksman. Who carefully levelled his rifle, aiming...

"My Queen has demanded it. You murdered her sister six years ago. This is her revenge. And I am honoured to die for her –" and Lionel jerked. Reynolds had got in that lucky shot and Sheppard understood in that instant to try and twist himself free, but the Wraith held him vice-like in one determined iron grip. The knife sliced at Sheppard's chest. Pain cut him through, disorientating, sending him stumbling to the floor as the Wraith jerked again, loosening his hold…

Too near...

Sky. The drop down…

Sheppard's feet, legs tried to gain purchase - hands scrabbled frantically at the Wraith's coat – anything - anything to stop himself falling -

"For. My. Queen!" roared the Wraith as he kicked Sheppard over the edge.

-oAo-


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen 

First, Todd ash Luyten constructed his wall. A mental picture. And organic. Cell upon cell. One thought forming the foundation for the next.

One of the cavernous rooms deep within his ship had, due to some abnormality in its creation produced a thickness capable of deadening all sound. This was his present location.

And this swelling of membrane he imagined. And in his mind, he even pictured it... pitch black to act as double guarantee against prying eyes.

Although if Forfallen watched, he was certain that nothing could possibly be misconstrued from his intention to burn incense. But he felt compelled to protect Fini, its supplier. If it proved efficacious, he would need the human to procure him more of the substance. And well, yes, perhaps it had to be conceded that a Wraith burning incense in order to meditate might arouse some suspicion.

A further barrier was necessitated, therefore. And he thought: aching bones. The incense is his cure. Yes, an adequate contrivance at fabrication of… a smokescreen - ah, yes, literally so. And he chuckled.

Secondly, he carefully removed the pendant from its casket and, lifting his hair, he looped it round his neck, allowing it to hang at the front of his coat.

Unusual.

Fini had said there was some heat radiating from the stone, but in contradiction, Todd ash Luyten thought it cold and heavy.

Thirdly, he kneeled. Ah... aching bones, indeed... not so far from the truth. But he preferred to kneel while meditating. Beside him on the floor, sat a small rectangular porcelain saucer procured from a human village during a culling raid. He poured the Noquolon powder out of its small jar, lighting it then with an _ignumi_, his wick, set upon a stand close to the saucer.

The room instantly flared blue, the powder hissing and spitting in much the same manner as water hitting burning oils. He backed off, and when the flaming substance had subsided from its initial effervescence, he hitched forward once more, breathing deeply, widening both nostril and facial slits to their fullest extent, to inhale the thick blue smoke that now filled the chamber.

Hmmm... Curious.

And then - choked as the fumes snagged at the back of his throat. Coughing and spluttering, a hand going to his eyes as they watered floods that blinded him, cursing Fini – it must have been a trick to fool him? – cursing that he had been ever been hatched with a human respiratory system, and panicking all in the same second, fearing his 'wall' had collapsed and that the Forfallen would discover him.

He recovered, composing himself quickly, though his eyes still streamed tears rather badly.

_Difficult. But... not impossible. Quite so._

In future, he would refrain from inhaling _quite so_ deeply.

The aroma was familiar. Something not unlike the odour of the fires of humans when they burned the black rock and yet, a scent mingled there... flowery... no, no... a perfume?... bah... human triviality... a flower that grew in Fini's garden... he called them roses.

But to begin. To concentrate. He checked for one final time to ascertain that he was indeed 'alone,' and was not being watched or sought by the Forfallen, fighting a tickle that still caught at his lungs. And he closed his eyes, which was in itself soothing against their soreness and irritation, and, settling himself back upon his lower legs and ankles, he soon relaxed into the incense, losing himself in the cloud surrounding him.

His mind wandered - annoyingly. The condition of the Queen. The speed of the ship. Had they sufficient humans in the cocoons in case of emergency? Had that broken console been fixed –

No!

Access the pendant. Yes. Glowing warm now against his chest. A dual fold meditation. To further increase its powers for future protection – it had already required as many as five sessions thus far. And, to assail the world of the Forfallen once more.

Floating...

A dark space...

A shooting light that jerked him.

There.

A cave. A pool. The pool of divination. Of knowledge. The Jzoika. Two Forfallen. One, the larger, Ef Xo, stood watching, teetering on her two hind legs, her claws clattering, grappling at the rock of the cave for support. Trance-like. An optimum opportunity, therefore, for Todd ash Luyten to be... spying. Ha! She was as vulnerable as he...

The other... the other was...? Ka Oh. He could 'hear' that Ef Xo called her that. And Ka Oh appeared to be in much the same state of stupor as Ef Xo, scarcely unable to stand, gripping at the side of the pool as she peered down into the churning water.

And Todd ash Luyten, as a particle of nothingness cloud, as a traveller through the ether, through the Trochlor lines, also approached the pool. Perhaps he would see nothing of particular importance. They might be involved in some other iniquity other than that of the Wraith Queen's revenge.

He willed his presence closer to the pool, and hovered in such so close proximity to Ka Oh that he was aware of her stench and was compelled to resist another paroxysm of coughing. But his meditation or the incense or the power of the pendant or a combination of all three, held strong.

The waters of the pool bubbled and frothed, spitting out hot fluid against the walls of the cavern that hissed as acid, and then, calmed.

_He lives yet!_ _Gravely injured, but he lives yet!_ Ka Oh screamed and Todd ash Luyten winced at the clamour of shrieks and clicking that emanated from others of the Forfallen that had gathered at the cave's entrance.

_Go again! Go again!_ came a universal shout as they danced around in some frenzy, sending Iratus bugs screeching for cover to avoid being crushed underfoot. _We do it again!_

Ef Xo stumbled over to the Jzoika, her heavy frame swaying dangerously.

They were not so resilient. Todd could kill these himself. It would not demand so very much. But the words of the librarian echoed in his head, that only the intended victim could undertake their slaughter.

_Show me. Show me. _And Ef Xo held her face close to the pool as if experiencing difficulty in focussing on the image appearing now on its surface. She blocked his view and he frowned, compelled to concentrate even harder, aligning himself with Ka Oh's ocular vision, to see as the Second saw.

A building of the Ancients. Unmistakable, though his view was only fragmentary.

Pristine clear-cut edges and straight lines of composite.

Atlantis. It could be no other.

Then he was to be so fortunate as to see the Forfallen at work for the Queen?

But the recent exchange of communications with the city had not revealed recent calamities. Todd ash Luyten had been beginning to doubt his assumption that John Sheppard was the intended victim. But would they admit it, if this was indeed the case?

_He lives still._

And... Todd ash Luyten sensed it... smelt it... other Wraith had been there in the city.

And there… the burning wrecks and debris of Darts scattered about the piers, sending off trails of smoke, confirmed this.

The scene before him centred in on one tower where Ronon Dex and a Lantean warrior kicked at the body of a dead Wraith.

The Queen's victim was not Ronon Dex, then.

And this Wraith? Todd ash Luyten had warned Atlantis of potential attacks. But such disobedience was intolerable. There might be others who dared to follow his example. Had the Queen herself put the Wraith up to this? Or the Forfallen had had control of him? As their puppet? The Forfallen had informed the Wraith of the location of Atlantis? Closer and he recognised the Wraith as being the same that had accompanied the Queen to Forfallen. No wonder then, he had been unable to discover this Wraith's whereabouts in order to question him.

A twisted justice perhaps, that he now lay dead.

And Todd ash Luyten reminded himself of his own mission – to curtail all future incursions into the Wraith consciousness by Forfallen. Clearly, they were dangerous.

A jumper. Holding an unsteady level high among the towers, buffeted by a strong sea breeze, its ramp lowered to access a small ledge. It was a difficult manoeuvre Todd ash Luyten conceded, bound in as it was by the wall of the nearest tower and a length of giant piping duct immediately above.

Figures moved about both inside and outside the craft. The golden hair of Dr. Keller glinted in the sunshine, as she and two other of her medical staff worked beside a gurney, setting up a bewildering array of medical equipment - at least they were bewildering to Todd ash Luyten – giving each other curt instructions that were lost in the wind to their… observers.

And a figure revealed, lying curled on a ledge, dressed in military black, with one boot hanging over the edge...

John Sheppard.

The target was definitely he, then.

Well, now…

He'd fallen from the tower top where now the Wraith lay dead? They had fought and both had lost?

The Forfallen seemed to zone in for an even closer look.

Blood pooled, where John Sheppard's right arm lay trapped beneath his body and where the side of his head was injured. He struggled with his breathing and yet more blood gurgled at his lips. His body jerked spasmodically as the humans worked quickly to prepare to lift him to the gurney. His eyes were open, glazed, unseeing...

He lived still... but only just...

_Yes, Sisters, we have drunk well today! He lives and we can look forward to further fills of the Queen for another day! Ka Oh's work has been exceptional._

_Now it is your turn, Ef Xo! Now we will finish?_

_Yes, indeed, my Seconds, now we will finish. Our finale waits for us, _slobbered Ef Xo.

Their evident glee grated on Todd ash Luyten and he pulled away, repulsed by all of this. He had seen all he needed to see. It was imperative now to reach Atlantis before it was too late. Communications, warnings sent ahead would be futile. They would be 'overheard.' Whatever the Lanteans thought they might do to protect Sheppard, would be hopeless against the Forfallen that were so all-seeing over the vast expanses of space. Todd ash Luyten was forced to admit that Forfallen powers far outstripped his. He needed to reach Atlantis personally where, using the pendant, he had more control over his immediate vicinity. These were his unfortunate limitations and he must bear with them, however restrictive they proved to be.

And... he needed Sheppard alive too. The Forfallen were certain that he would live for now. And Todd ash Luyten found himself hoping they were right. Fini would have said he was praying.

-oAo-

"Mr..." he could never get these Earth terminologies right... "Woolsey."

Todd ash Luyten watched the small screen, impatient as always at this human's longwinded niceties, longing to break away and pace the room with his impatience. He knew, however, he must keep firmly in place before the scanner.

"It is opportune that you contacted us at this particular moment in time-"

"I require to speak with John Sheppard." He could contain himself no longer. Straight to the point. "I shall be arriving without the rest of the fleet, in four of your days." He wished it could be sooner. But he understood from the Forfallen, that they were to permit their victim to recover before they finally claimed him. So he had this time. And, unencumbered with the fleet, he could gain a whole day in reaching Atlantis.

Richard Woolsey seemed momentarily taken aback, surprised by the sudden declaration, and then recovered his former equanimity.

"Colonel Sheppard is currently indisposed-"

"I am aware of this!" and he waved a hand as if it were of no importance. And then suddenly realised his mistake, that his statement would seem to implement him in the attack on Atlantis, that even the Forfallen would wonder how he had come by the information.

"You are?" And the human coughed. And there were mutterings in the background. More aggressive tones. Todd ash Luyten sensed that Ronon Dex was standing close by to Richard Woolsey. "Then... perhaps you are also aware that Atlantis came under attack today from _Wraith_? And that Colonel Sheppard was a regrettable casualty?"

He could not say. He could not say how he knew and he could not say that he knew the extent of John Sheppard's injuries. To say this out loud, using radio communications would reveal that he knew. Knew that Sheppard's life was in danger from the Forfallen. He could not yet protect his thought across these enormous distances. But the mistake had been made and he continued regardless hoping that the Forfallen would not notice. Or might believe he had heard of the attack by some other means.

"Yes! Yes! It is over this matter that I must speak with Sheppard."

"Unfortunately, I doubt if he will be able to speak to _you_. His injuries are such that-"

"I wish... to apologise... in person." It was a good excuse, he thought.

"You do?" And there were more hurried conversations in the background. The voice of Ronon Dex came loud and clear - Todd was not to be trusted. Well, that was a surprise coming from that particular mortal.

"Yes! Yes! As you say, regrettable. The attack today. Inexcusable of us. We were unable to prevent it however. But it will not happen again."

"Indeed, it will not. We are seriously considering the possibility that this alliance with yourselves might be ill advised-"

Had he not been placatory enough? "No! It must go ahead! Have I not told you? It will not happen again!"

"I sincerely hope not. There has been a grave breach of trust-"

Slogot!

"I must see John Sheppard!"

"When he is well enough, I will convey your assurances to the Colonel-"

"Now!"

"Commander. It really is not your place to simply demand these things."

"I will undergo all your usual stringent security checks."

"Commander-"

"I said I will arrive in four of your days. Be ready."

"Commander, you do not appear to understand. Had you not contacted us, then I was about to contact you. If you or any of your fleet, come within firing range of us, we will deem it an act of war. We are very concerned that a faction your Wraith appear to know the exact location of Atlantis. I'm sure you can appreciate, there are certain issues that need to be sorted before we can resume any talks of an alliance. Further negotiations will now be required to satisfy Stargate Command and these must take place on the designated planet of Eydian. I cannot possibly permit you personal access to Atlantis, simply on the basis of an apology."

"The assault on Atlantis was down to one Wraith. I was the one who warned you-"

"Yes, indeed you did-"

"Then organise these 'further negotiations!' It remains my intention to come. One Wraith vessel only. I will contact you again one hour away. If you value this alliance, as you did twenty-four hours ago, then, I ask you do this and not to question me!"

He shut down, hoping his last words did not sound so much of a threat. He had not realised that reaching Atlantis would be such an obstacle.

Teyla Emmagan. Wraith DNA.

Yes. And he could prove... what? Sincerity? A Wraith having to prove his _sincerity_ to humans?

Yes, he would ask her to intercede for him.

-oAo-

"You're going to have to ask."

"I can't."

"If you don't ask, they're going to tell you, anyway, sooner or later."

"I can't."

"If you can't, then I will."

"Rodney, leave it... will ya?" Sheppard shifted in the bed. All of a staggering half an inch to protest against Rodney. Not because Sheppard couldn't move anymore than that - though he couldn't - but because, and he winced, something hurt somewhere too. In his chest. Pretty much… everywhere...

"Rodney, I'll find out... they'll tell me... soon enough... you said," he slurred breathlessly. He really wished Rodney wouldn't make him talk. He couldn't control his mouth with the wad of bandaging clamped to the right side of his face. Making him talk just made him dribble out of the good side of his face. Making him talk made it feel like the stitches across his jaw and ear would pull. And making him talk, even in monosyllables was just too much of a struggle when he was so damned tired. And Jenny had said - he wasn't supposed to talk.

Rodney wiped Sheppard's mouth brusquely with a paper tissue. He had the bedside manner of a gorilla.

"Well, _I_ need to know!" and Rodney stood bolt upright. And instantly slipped out of John's field of vision, which wasn't too brilliant, and Rodney went from slightly blurred to a full lost in the fog thing.

"Hey..."

"What?" snapped Rodney.

"Thought... thought I was the patient..." he wheezed.

"Soooo... _you_ need to know!"

"I said, leave it," he said, putting as much bite and authority into his voice that a guy just off his deathbed could muster. This was stupid though. They both knew anyhow. Once he was well enough for wormhole travel, he was first in line to be shipped out of here. And there was nothing anyone or anything could do about it. Not for all the Rodney blustering in the entire galaxy.

His right shoulder, and his arm above the elbow were in pieces like some 3D jigsaw puzzle - so smashed up that they'd perforated a lung when he'd landed - and he'd only had half the surgery to put it right again. Until the swelling went down. A busted pelvis and thigh. Fractured skull and jaw. Whiplash. When he'd woken up that first time, he'd had the hell scared out of him finding his neck in a collar - till they'd assured him there had been no damage to his spinal cord.

A whole catalogue – they'd even fixed his liver too – weird how he always forgot that one – but a guy could be forgiven for forgetting one thing on such a long list. He'd been out of it for two whole days and they told him he was lucky...

They'd joked and said it'd been his hard stubborn head had taken the brunt. Had acted as a shock absorber. Nothing in it but soft sponge, Rodney had jibed, because, yeah, this had been all his own fault for refusing to listen to anyone in the first place. Oddly, it was the throbbing to his damaged head that always surfaced above the painkillers first. Like it was threatening to do now.

Yeah, lucky. He could have fallen the whole half klick down. And he thought of Heightmeyer...

Rodney slumped back down into his chair, knocking and shaking the bed, making Sheppard wince again and suck hard on the nasal tube.

Rodney was oblivious.

"I can't... we can't let them do this to you," he said. And Sheppard got the impression from his sideways viewpoint, that Rodney might have been shaking his head.

The guy was just tired, he guessed. Fresh up from the labs, after forty eight hours of scanning Dart wreckage for any sign of the cloaking ability, forty eight hours of giving his scientists – and himself - hell for coming up with nothing. Forensics examining the body of the Wraith had drawn blanks too. Everyone was on edge that there were Wraith out there who knew of Atlantis' location – and there wasn't enough energy in the ZPM's to move her out of harm's way.

"I'm military... It's... what happens." He hoped that would settle Rodney down. And he closed his eyes, suddenly even more exhausted. This wasn't an argument he wanted to have right now.

Third time lucky.

This was the third time he'd ended up in the infirmary. And he couldn't exactly say how or why it'd happened. And it'd all happened despite everything being in place so it couldn't happen. Did that make any sense? Possibly not. But every one of the incidents could have been prevented with more forethought. Was he losing his touch? Perhaps… it _was_ time to move on.

Then... He'd go back to Earth. End up in rehab and have to start all over from there. Meet new people. Make new friends. Sure, he'd hate to be parted from these guys but there were always some way of staying in contact. He ought to be grateful that he hadn't died, that he'd at least got a chance to start over. Others like Aidan and Elizabeth, hadn't been so fortunate. A part of his life was over. And a new one would begin... but it felt like... a wide gaping hole of uncertainty lie ahead of him... and Pegasus never was like that?

"I could resign. There! I could do that! That should frighten them enough to let you stay."

"Blackmail, Rodney?" he said wearily, trying to squint Rodney into focus.

"They can't just throw you on the scrapheap!"

And he felt too darn tired to reel out what he'd just been thinking about new beginnings.

"Scrapheap... you know..." and he tried to move again so he could see more of Rodney – and actually succeeded in twisting round another whole fraction, a small miracle what with his head being all restrained with the collar like it was, and with his arm so heavy and immobile, resting on its mound of pillows – simply the discomfit of his whole right side was enough to leave him panting with even this slight effort. "I'm…" and he had to tighten his lips to force the words out, "soon… gonna have… more pieces in my arm… than… a child's construction toy... They're never gonna let me fly again..."

He was the proverbial winged bird.

"You could come back?"

"Yeah. I could come back," he said, with little faith in his own assurance.

Footsteps across the floor and a dark shadow told him Jenny had come close.

"Rodney, I thought I told you to scram ten minutes ago. He needs to rest." She sounded tired and jaded herself. They'd been a run of patients all day though only two at the far end were staying the night. It seemed that spell of Lantean bad luck just wouldn't peter itself out.

"I'm going, I'm going," replied Rodney gloomily, skulking off. "Night, Sheppard."

"Thanks," thanked Sheppard huskily, closing his eyes. Though he didn't mean for Rodney to go, but like Jenny said, he needed the rest.

"I know what you're like." She was checking his IVs and monitors. "You'd let him talk until midnight. You're too nice to him. There. You're all set up for the night now." Though he rarely made it through a couple of hours without needing attention. "You're doing well. You're coping with reduced painkillers."

"So..." and like Rodney said, it was time he asked, "when am I going back to Earth?"

He opened one eye in query after a second, sensing her freezing beside him.

"I was going to say..." she said quietly. "The right moment never seemed to come up."

"Sure you were."

"Two days. I'm sorry."

"Yeah... so am I."

"It's out of my hands."

"I know. And there was me, looking forward to the big event... Rodney said Todd wanted to see me." Jenny must have just given him something to help him sleep. He was feeling dozier than ever – he wasn't even sure if he'd dreamt that part about Todd.

"Rodney wasn't supposed to tell you about that. He wasn't to worry you. Nothing's certain yet, anyhow."

"Well… doesn't matter now… I'm out of the equation…Todd will just have to find someone else to talk to."

"You need anything else?"

"No." He said with his eyes still closed. "I'm... good. Good and tired... real tired" And it must have been the accumulation of all the drugs, because he didn't care anymore... about Todd, the alliance... fight all gone... easier to just let things happen...

She guided a call button into his left hand. "You know the routine, just give us a 'shout' if you change your mind. You don't have to be brave and soldier on, you know."

"Ok..." he said, nearly under before Jenny had even dimmed the lights.

-oAo-

It seemed like only ten minutes later, and the night duty nurse woke him seeing to one of the other guys. She came over to him to check on him though he scarcely acknowledged her and just lay there, appreciating the peace and cool and dark of the infirmary at night. He slept fitfully from then on for what felt like hours, hating the way he couldn't move, wanting so much to curl over to his 'good' side.

A hint of daylight, of dawn seeped in from a faulty blind at a window... yeah, Atlantis was still breaking down around them, even in all the little ways. One of the other guys began to snore. And suddenly it felt like even forty winks would be impossible. The aches from the injured parts of his body were starting to liven up and he needed something for the pain. He'd have to give in and ask he guessed, but lay there for some time, trying to pick up the energy, telling himself, that perhaps it wasn't that bad. And then, as was the way of these things, he slipped into a much deeper sleep.

What?

Wood smoke?

A mission in a forest.

Alone.

Wood smoke. The crackling of a fire. No... no... clicking like crickets... clicking... he'd heard it some place else... clicking... crickets clicking... no... fireflies... fireflies that click... fireflies flitting around him in a timber dry forest... clicking... fireflies setting off small fires around him. Heaps of dead leaves... smoke curling up... wood smoke...

Wood smoke that got into his eyes. Making them smart and tear up. He coughed and it hurt his damaged lung. He was in a forest and his chest still hurt? He should be... he should be back in bed in the infirmary.

Wood smoke... but someone was burning... other stuff? Trash? The stink of smouldering plastic reached him... rubber, fabric too?...Who? He looked around. Trees and wood smoke curling up from bonfires. No one. But laughter and clicking. 'They' were playing with him.

He coughed again and the pain from that cut right across his chest. Damn, mustn't move...

Clicking... clicking in his ears... but he mustn't move... to block his ears... his right arm was smashed... all bandaged up… he should be able to move his left... that was ok... and he looked to his left arm, fascinated by the red glow spreading there... watching the fabric of his sleeve burn... and weirdly his left arm hurt as much as his right... no... he should run... run back to the infirmary... he shouldn't be here in a forest fire...

He woke suddenly. Or thought he had. The clicking of his dream was still with him.

So too was the smoke...

Hell. The monitors sparked, lost in a fog of blue grey that was quickly billowing his way.

"Hey..." stuck in his throat.

Frantic, his eyes streaming from the fumes of burning fabric and plastic, he choked, trying to draw in the oxygen from the canula. Nothing came.

One panic quickly succeeded another as the tube flared up beside him on the pillow. Oxygen and heat. Not good. And there was a whole cylinder of the stuff stashed under the bed. And he was feeling a lot of heat right now. He snatched the tube away from his face and tried swatting at the flickers of flames.

"Hey. Hey." But no one was going to hear him with that clicking. The fire was doing that. The fire was clicking. The fire was getting big and noisy.

No one coming.

And no alarms going off. No sprinklers.

The call remote.

Where was it? Where the hell was it? But he couldn't move to find it. Flames licked down his left side, scorching his sheets.

Hell.

No one coming.

He swatted some more at the flames – what else could he do? Couldn't yell. Choking too much. Couldn't see. Blinded too much. But the heat was still there... a lot of heat was still there... and the smell of burning fabric... his sleeve… the sheet… and he couldn't move... couldn't goddamn move away... paralysed by coughing... clicking... got to get out... pain slicing up his left arm... choking… can't get it out of the flames... burning... he's gonna burn... God... he's going to burn here... go... go... get out... get out... and he pushed to the right... to his injured side… screaming out as pain ripped through his whole body...

…hitting blackness hard.

-oAo-


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Many thanks to all for reading and reviewing! Reviews really have brought a smile to this author's face – and not simply because of some perverted pleasure in seeing you all squeal at the cliffies! – I also view them as encouragement to continue. A much calmer ending for this chapter – good timing possibly, as one reviewer has said that she needs a break from my evilness… ;-)

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

_Ef Xo? Ef Xo, our First? _

Quite possibly, none of the Forfallen had ever seen her this way, absently studying the sky, where grey storm clouds gathered, threatening to lash the top of their mountain once more.

She turned to them and bowed.

_You have done well, my sisters,_ attempting to force a confidence that she did not feel into her clicking. She felt that some assurance was necessary, disliking that they should begin to doubt her – which they were.

_Ga Hi. That was most excellent considering you had so very little notice to prepare yourself._ But Ga Hi, despite her... quirkiness, was always the most proficient of Forfallen.

_They will now not send him to Earth?_ asked Ga Hi. And thus out of range of their powers.

_No. He is quite... ill. You have re-gained those two crucial days._ She had not foreseen the obstacle. Psychic messages emitted from Earth did not reach them and therefore she had not realised the Lantean procedure to send back sick personnel. For her own spell to succeed, she was in need of those two days, for all those pieces to fit together. A double revenge.

_And then, it will be finished?_ questioned Ka Oh. And questioning from her second-in-command was most disconcerting. Ef Xo could not help but rattle her wings in annoyance.

_Yes. It will be finished,_ she said firmly, eyeing them all, looking to see who doubted her still.

They all did.

Usually they would be dancing among the fires. Now there existed such a deep melancholy that even the Iratus bugs had ceased their scavenging among the shadows of nearby rocks, attentive to the unfamiliar stillness. As if waiting for a storm from the very ground, and not from the one advancing in the overhead skies.

_I must rest, _she clicked briskly. To accumulate strength for the task ahead, and throwing her cloak about her, she headed for the cave on legs all too soon steady from the potions. Somehow, the depression that had gripped them all, had relinquished them more quickly from their trance and drugs.

_Is it Todd ash Luyten?_

She stopped dead in her tracks. Fed the anger into her upper torso and held it there suppressed. She could not bring herself to be angry with Ka Oh.

_Yes. Yes, it is,_ she admitted without turning. The Wraith Commander was proving to be the greatest hurdle she had ever encountered. He was in their control but there were times...

_Then is it wise-_

Ef Xo spun round and watched her favourite recoil in horror, even putting up a claw across her ocelli in defence of whatever punishment Ef Xo might throw her way.

Todd ash Luyten had done this to them. Upset the equilibrium of her best laid plans and threatened to turn her sisters against her.

_We will be triumphant! He will not succeed! _As if the saying of it would make it true.

_I must rest,_ she repeated, drawing up her cloak once more, returning to the cave as the rain splattered and paddled the mud and slime at her feet.

-oAo-

"No! No!"

And she woke. Dawn greyed the room. Curtains billowed in on a soft breeze for Teyla always slept with her windows open, a habit left from her early days of living life in a tent.

She watched the drapes. And listened, hearing nothing but the sea around the piers, the odd cry of a seabird and the occasional creak of Atlantis on her moorings.

And her heart beating loud against her pillow.

Nothing untoward.

She tried to recall the dream that had seemed so real, that had caused her to cry out, that, as was the way of all dreams, had now slipped from memory. And she was left puzzling over that residual feeling - and dreams often had this affect too - that there was something of the utmost urgency that she must do.

Visit John.

She had been away from the infirmary for too long. She glanced at the timepiece on her nightstand. Three hours should be sufficient sleep, though Jenny would argue otherwise. But Teyla's mind was too alert, too troubled, and with John, sick as he was, further sleep would now be impossible.

During these last three days, never before had she felt so overwhelmed by the suffering of one of her team, at least, not since Elizabeth's terrible injuries. Lantean medicine had always seemed to perform miracles but John's recovery also demanded the patience of time. She closed her eyes tight against the image, the sight of his broken body, the burns, the pain that drugs could never disguise – the mental scars that were, in equal portions, as crippling as physical scars, already evident in John's eyes.

Why was this all happening to him? What had he ever done to deserve such misfortune? But... there was little wisdom in wasting one's energy cursing fate.

'The river still flows, whether frozen by cold or swollen by storm,' was the old Athosian adage.

She pushed aside her covers, and threw her legs over the edge of the bed –

'No!'

She had sat up too quickly. Swallowing hard, she gripped the bed with one hand and rubbed the back of the other across her forehead, fighting the greying dizzy lunge to the room and the noisy rush of blood at her ears. Fatigue. She was simply fatigued. It would pass...

'_Teyla.'_

The voice she recognized instantly. Wildly, she looked round the room.

How can...?

But there was no Todd.

She was alone. And she chided herself. For how could it be? How could Todd possibly be in her room? They were on full alert. Such access would be impossible for him. She must still be dreaming. So starved of rest, her mind could no longer differentiate between reality and fantasy.

The room swayed and swirled in some grey murky mist. An odour familiar to her, stagnant and repulsive, as rotted flesh, rose about her. A vision unwelcome of a Wraith ship filled her sight. And pain as unwelcome as the vision forced its way into her mind.

"Todd!"

But whether the call was uttered in Atlantis, or within this mirage of a Wraith ship, she could not tell. She held her hands to her head, covering her eyes, willing the image, now fragmented to leave her. Thoughts of compromise, of being forced to do something against her will brought panic, and the stickiness of perspiration pricked at her skin and made her shiver.

'_Teyla, I mean no harm-'_

"I warned you once Todd, if you did anything – _anything_..." she spat out the threat but left it unfinished, doubting she could prevent Todd even if he did mean to injure her.

'_Teyla... Teyla.'_ His words came soft and fatherly. A ruse, a trick surely.

"Get out! Get out of my head!" and Teyla jumped to her feet with new determination, screaming at the wall of her room, for a moment able to drive the picture of Todd away.

But seconds later, and he was back.

'_Think... consider. If I truly meant you harm, would you not think that I would have done so by now. Do not fight me but concentrate. Listen to what I have to say. The lives of the whole of Pegasus may depend upon it.' _His hastily spoken words finished with an imploring, _'please... look... look at my thoughts... you know I speak the truth.'_

She blinked several times, unable to clear her sight of Todd's face. He held his head to one side, coaxing, encouraging.

"What do you want?" For there had been something there, when she searched, that was truthful, sincere, even for this Wraith.

'_I apologise for... scaring you.'_

"You never scare me!" she snapped.

'_No, no, of course not.'_ He shifted, and she started. Not only was his full body in her view now, but her room, had again drawn away from her, melting from her feet like some gentle tide, taking her totally and fully to the corridor of the Wraith ship.

Her own words were in her mind now. _'Todd!'_ she warned, hating to admit to her apprehensiveness with all this strangeness that was occurring around her.

And then she saw it, to her left side, a black shadow of... nothingness, a vacuum. Rodney would liken it to a black hole and she shivered once more, taking a step back. She drew in breath sharply, hands clasping, unclasping at her side, in some futile readiness for attack – knowing, however, that there was no physical means to drive this apparition away.

This was of Todd's making? An attempt to frighten her? But the feeling was soon overridden by the realisation, by his glance towards the shadow, that he also struggled with this presence - even..._ feared_ it more.

He sensed her question and answered it with his thought.

'_They can come no closer-'_

'_They?'_

'_I cannot explain – not now. They try to watch me but can come no closer as I have learned to keep them at bay. It is... difficult.'_

She could feel it. Could feel the weight of rocks that corresponded to the weight of power that Todd pushed against the blackness. She saw him close his eyes with effort and spring them open again, too attached to Wraith pride even to admit to the word 'difficult.'

'_They...'_ and she cast another nervous look towards the hole._ 'They are... here, with you... always?'_ she asked, understanding his burden to keep the threat at bay, understanding the heightened mental capacities that were needed to engineer this, and it exceeded anything she could ever do. Something like respect suddenly came flooding in unbidden but it was there all the same. And so she had to permit some degree of trust towards him.

'_Yes. Always.'_ And he stared hard at her – with the faintest flicker of ... pain? That disappeared in an instant although his lips set hard as if grappling with tremendous strain. _'At times it is harder than at others. As now,'_ and he gestured round the corridor._ 'I have to keep this short therefore. You need to persuade Mr Woolsey to permit me aboard Atlantis. It is imperative that I speak with John Sheppard.'_

She had heard of his earlier request and she started to speak, to say that John was too ill, but one of those long skeleton hands rose to gently silence her. She backed off, wary of the movement, the hand too close to her chest, finding herself touching the wall behind and, hating its slime and cold, she moved forward again. This was so real. She could never get over the shock of how real these experiences were for her, even if it had been some time since her last 'mind visit' to a Wraith ship.

'_Why?'_ She asked, forcing firmness into her voice, _'why do you wish to see him?'_

'_I cannot explain,'_ and he glanced at the shadow once more, a second of fear alight in those yellow eyes, furtive, feral, the hint of a shoulder lowered as if fending off an actual physical threat. He straightened, sniffed and pulled down at the front of his coat.

'_Not here. Not at this time. They..._' and he looked that way again, _'I shall explain once I am with John Sheppard, suffice to say, there is a connection between them and John Sheppard that is... problematic. And,'_ there followed another pause as if he found it painful to confess it, _'only John Sheppard can offer a solution.'_

'_A solution for Pegasus?'_ and she pulled a wry face, remembering his claim of earlier, exaggerated and coloured with his usual lies to hold her attention she was sure,_ 'or perhaps a solution for yourself?'_

He snorted. Possibly irritated by the manner in which she was gaining courage. And he looked to where her vision clouded into the darkness of the ceiling._ 'I admit some self-interest.' _Considering, thoughtful. _'But believe me, Teyla Emmagan, my own gain in this, pales into insignificance if you could only see the entirety of the danger that is threatened. I do not exaggerate when I say all of Pegasus. I would not even be exaggerating if I were to say the entire Universe._' He sniffed once more. _'Will you do this? Will you persuade Mr Woolsey?'_

'_Who are these people who pose such a threat? You have to tell me more.'_

'_And I have said that I cannot. For as my ship nears Atlantis, they see my intent to warn. They watch John Sheppard continually also. In less than the day now afforded me, I shall be building a wall... yes... yes... a wall, and John Sheppard shall be safe from prying eyes.'_ And it seemed to Teyla that he was attempting to convince himself as much as her.

'_Safe, yes, safe, until... time... why did I not realise sooner? Slogot!'_ and he turned away from Teyla, appearing to ramble. _'The second setting of the second moon of Atlantis... why did I not see it!'_

And he glanced at the shadow yet again and even Teyla stared at it. It seemed to billow, to gain in volume and edge its way closer to them.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, exhaling, his hand on a pendant as if summoning its assistance to push the shadow back again. _'Yes, I need this time to build the wall to render it impenetrable – to gain my strength – can you understand that? Can you understand any of this?' _and he looked at her directly, and she saw no menace._ 'They have already foreseen this would be my course of action, to go to Atlantis, and ha, a clever ruse! Double, double success for them. To use that Wraith to throw John Sheppard from the tower and in so doing, thwarting me by turning Atlantis against me, forbidding my approach. But soon, John Sheppard will be able to finish this. With my help.'_

'_You know that he still lies severely injured?' _Her former concern._ 'He has suffered burns also. There was a small fire in the infirmary.'_

Alarm flickered across his face.

'_They still continue with this… he is not injured enough?'_ he was thinking to himself, _'Why did they not kill him?'_

'_They? You know who is responsible? You must tell me who these people are! I must know their names. We cannot permit would-be killers to walk Atlantis free.'_ It was suspected that not only had the wiring of John's monitors been interfered with, but so too had the fire alarm system – and someone had locked the night duty nurse Baines in a store cupboard preventing her from coming to John's immediate aid.

'_And I told you I cannot explain here… no time…'_ but he glanced again at the shadow. And she realised the connection.

'_Outside influence,'_ she murmured, remembering all the discussions as to the causes of Atlantis' misfortune. _''They' are an outside influence…' _

'_Exactly so…_ _If John Sheppard were not injured, there would be no problem. We could meet elsewhere but now it has to be on Atlantis. But I can help. Will you believe me when I say that I can help? I_ _have a little of his life force within me, residual from the time that I fed from him, so that I may restore, if not all of his health, then part. You have this understanding of Wraith? I know that you have?_' His eyes looked to her, searching, in earnest, but she knew it was still right to waver, to question. He could have conjured up this show of the shadow to trick her. She bit her lip, uncertain of decision.

'_And... and... if my strength is incomplete, I may be... compelled to ask for your assistance too.'_ He bowed his head. As if in shame that he had to confess to Wraith weakness and failure. _'Together there is much we can accomplish.'_

This was his humility? Or his flattery? And she suddenly felt incensed that he was wheedling his way around her.

'_Look at the last times! Look at the last times! How can I possibly trust you?' _ The list was long of all those occasions when he had claimed to help but had also came close to putting those on Atlantis in peril.

'_I will relent to a search. I will be alone. Once my ship has dropped me off, it will withdraw to a safe distance but will remain in video contact throughout so that, if weapon systems are fired up, you would know that very same instant. But this scenario will not happen as, in effect, I will be your hostage. I will open my mind to you during the whole of my stay on Atlantis. This is the trust that I place in you, Teyla Emmagan. How can you lose, but you have so much to gain? Trust me, please, for I am trusting you.'_

Still she hesitated.

'_It is my intention to bring the whole fleet to a certain point, so…'_ and he cast another look to the shadow, _''they' believe I am still attempting to hold these alliance discussions. Then my ship will travel on alone. But I could attack Atlantis with the whole fleet. I could use this option to reach John Sheppard. This option is not entirely closed to me-'_

'_You see, you threaten!'_ she rasped at him, pointing a finger at him, making little attempt to conceal her anger. _'Back to your old tricks – blackmail!' _He grabbed her hand taking her by surprise, and pushed it down to her side, and held another over her mouth, breathing into her face.

'_But I do not chose this option!'_ he snarled back at her, jerking away suddenly as the shadow hissed and approached them. And he closed his eyes, reaching for the pendant again, willing the black mist away.

'_Help me, help me now!'_

She watched horrified as the shadow crept as smoke, reaching their feet.

'_Help me!'_

'_I don't...'_ but she immediately closed her eyes. Her weapon would be her mind, this she understood. A tool. A shield pressing hard against this attack though she had no idea of her enemy. Some intuition told her they had attacked her once before when she had been poisoned by the plant toxins. This shapeless nothing-shadow had been in her unconsciousness. In her dreams as whispers of malevolence. When friends' voices had tried to reassure her, these had laughed and pointed blame at John. And she could hate them back. 'Use your hatred,' Ronon always said.

She opened her eyes.

Her room again and no sign of Todd.

"I did not agree to anything!" she shouted defiantly to the four walls. "Nothing was agreed between the two of us!"

'_I mean to save him. I mean to save his life,'_ came Todd's voice into her mind again. _'Time... time... I have no time... by the setting of the second moon of Atlantis... I have no time... Trust me, Teyla Emmagan, I do intend to save him.'_

-oAo-

_What is this?_ Ef Xo clicked, amused by the antics of Ga Hi – a spinning dance on four legs, twisting about her narrow middle portion, her antennae bouncing at crazy angles crazily - all signs of utter joy and pleasure.

Ef Xo begun to suspect that the Second may have already imbibed the precious potion now sitting on the ceremonial platter suspended on its tripod over the roaring fire.

_Heee heee, you know that I have! Heee heee! I had to test it, you see? Not always superior quality. You think it is, and then... it isn't! _ With a few more twirls to prove her point, Ga Hi ever more dizzy and giddy, finally landed heavily on the ground, emitting a sort of hic-cupping noise.

_You are a fool!_ returned Ef Xo, in jest, sharing Ga Hi's high spirits, pleased as she thoughtfully prodded a claw at the pile of fibrous slithers that burned on the plate. Her whole frame sniffed for its authenticity, for its excellence. She had almost forgotten that the properties the Helfgon toadstool, so rare in the marshes, intensified to this degree during the stormy season. And then more fortuitous still, the distinctive essence, the faint aroma of a solitary wraith, who had stumbled on the night of the Queen's visit, who had suffocated in the quagmire, lost and forgotten by his fellows. She breathed in the beauty of his agony and struggling death throes. When the floods had receded, leaving its decomposing body exposed at the marsh edges, it had provided the rarest of nutrients for the Helfgon to suck sustenance from.

How sweet was this cycle of life! For it blessed them with the most perfect distillation for their next excursion along the Trochlor lines. How sweet this anticipation! She could not now possibly fail.

Ga Hi clumsily picked herself up from the floor and reached for yet another of the pouches she had filled on her expedition.

_And these. I have these also!_ rattling it only inches from Ef Xo's face. Ga Hi had never possessed a proper sense of etiquette and decorum!

Ten Wraith finger bones, snapped off by Ga Hi's claw, clattered and littered the flat rock they used as a preparation table.

Ef Xo formed a thought to levitate one section, wishing to treat it with the required delicacy, desirous not to contaminate its unique qualities. She examined it closely. Traces of black flesh still clung to its length.

_Exquisite!_ she pronounced, feeling that tremor seize her groin, sensing also that the Seconds followed her example. This was bringing renewed oneness and strength to them all. They could not fail. Not with this positive link to all things Wraith and death.

_And this!_ and Ga Hi tossed the contents of another larger pouch onto the floor.

The Wraith's head rolled and bumped to a stop at Ef Xo's feet. Blackened but with features intact. Its fear, its horror at its own demise, preserved for all eternity in the rigor mortis of its expression – so life like still, that the Wraith's last choking gargle seemed to resonate around them. Its brains bubbled and oozed blue and oily and muddy through one eye socket. Its tongue, possibly shredded by the marsh's Nojken worm, still clung to its cheek. The stench of decay reached Ef Xo's olfactory glands and sensory hairs. Ecstasy… The Wraith had died so well! If only another more troublesome Wraith might do so...

_Ga Hi. Ga Hi, you have excelled all expectation. You will have pride of place at my side during our feast! You may initiate the ceremonies._ Though she doubted Ga Hi had the capability for the long concentration that this would entail.

_Oh, I want nothing. Nothing but to enjoy_! And Ef Xo knew this to be true of Ga Hi. Always the fun, the sensuous. Never the ambition.

_But... _hesitated Ga Hi.

_Yes?_ And already Ef Xo's mind busied itself with modifying her potions, her spells to incorporate the new discoveries. Calculations of quantities. Incantations for optimum effect. Todd ash Luyten would be no adversary. John Sheppard would be dead by the setting of the moon. The Queen would be theirs utterly. And so too would be the gateway to so much more power... a gathering in of so rich a harvest.

_Can I... may I look into the pool... for no particular reason... merely to peep?_

_But, of course,_ Ef Xo clicked, her heart wrapped in warmth. A sensation of ... warmth? Wrapped her heart? Yes. Perhaps a cold blooded creature such as she was capable of pleasure from generosity to a fellow Forfal. Yes, warmth in knowing the pleasure Ga Hi would experience from this – for it had not been long since Ef Xo had also checked the reading from the pool.

She watched Ga Hi's unwieldy tottering into the cave, remembering her own satisfaction on seeing John Sheppard's slow recovery. She'd licked at her mandibles, delighting in the way his burns wept and the pain that it caused. This knowledge had been passed onto the Wraith Queen via her dreams... via her _nightmares_... Once, the Queen had been grateful for such news, now she cursed it as his pain eroded into her very own being as an intense coldness that gripped her soul, crushing it, transforming his pain into hers, returning as magnified power to the Forfallen.

Ef Xo gathered up Ga Hi's treasures and followed the other Forfallen into the cave.

John Sheppard was also tortured with bad dreams. Ef Xo ensured he re-lived his 'accidents' over and over. Intermingled with those of the day when he had killed the Queen's sister. Making the message clear – it was, after all, a part of their contract that he was made aware of the reason why he was being punished. Dr Rodney McKay's allergy. Ronon Dex's shooting. Teyla Emmagan's poisoning. The soldier's sacrifice. His own injuries invariably centred on his chest – had he never realised this connection to the death of the Queen's sister? The fall. The burning and the inhalation of smoke. Now, recovered slightly, he could scarcely speak, his lungs were so choked. With each laboured breath, he fought for the oxygen that the human technology provided.

'Where is this place?' he'd asked, gasping. She'd enjoyed his confusion. She enjoyed his continued incapacitation. A human of action, plan and determination reduced to helplessness. Though, yes, there was acknowledgement that this enjoyment was rooted in that basic instinct of her early ancestors that tormented, tortured its prey, watched its victim struggle for hours, as it slowly weakened itself, before the bug finally attached jaws to the life vein...

She deposited Ga Hi's spoils upon a shelf, glancing at Ga Hi already crouched at the pool, immersed in a trance of pure joy, her wings, extended, an even more translucent purple than ever before.

_They have transferred the infirmary to the lower levels?_ Ga Hi clicked. Due to the smoke damage. And apparently, this move additionally enabled the scientists to carry out forensic checks. Foul play by a fellow Lantean was again suspected. For the wiring to the infirmary monitors, and the fire alarm system had all been systematically checked at regular intervals.

'How could it possibly just go wrong?' asked Rodney McKay. 'There has to be an explanation!'

Oh, yes indeed! How could it possibly just go wrong! Oh, an unforeseen added bonus of everyone suspecting everyone else! Such wickedness! Fear, fear and more fear. Such a feast! Would the culprit strike again? Would the next victim be John Sheppard or even someone else? Who would the culprit attack next? Had they a psychopath in their midst? And Ef Xo clicked a chuckle to herself.

Ga Hi pulled away from the pool.

_When he speaks, it's all funny! He can scarcely breathe! And they check the dressings frequently! They have to turn him, this way, that way, this way, all ways, and always, he is in pain! _

_I know, my dear, I know! And this is all your doing!_

_Me? Well, yes indeed! It was me! Tee hee. _

_Come. Come and aid me with these preparations._ And Ef Xo placed a bowl for Ga Hi to sluice the Wraith brains into and the Second began chanting an ancient Forfallen curse as she did so, pausing suddenly in her work.

_Although... _She seemed to pout and Ef Xo could feel a thought perplex her._ It will be a shame to kill him now. No more fun._

_There will be others, my dear. We will destroy them all. Humans. Wraith. We will send them all to their hell._

-oAo-

Todd ash Luyten paced the room. Quietly. Uncertain, yet again, where to place his hands. So he clasped them behind his back. Yet again. Then, because that had also become habit for him, he checked for the pendant about his neck.

A palpable relief sent a sigh through his body and forced him to close his eyes at the receding panic, willing lungs and heart beat to slow and soften.

Of course, it still hung there. Re-assured, yes. But simultaneously annoyed, that he was so fallible to such a mundane insecurity as to believe he might have mislaid it! Had he not a more superior mind now? Bah! Had he not the power now, to utilize the Trochlor lines and to see all? No... no... weakness... no... no... A wraith, such as he? Flawed with weakness? And this was not the time to feel... what?... _fear..._ fear that he might not succeed?

The Queen stirred upon her bed, mumbling in her usual stupor, dreaming still in semi-slumber. He had had her transferred to this smaller cruiser not daring to leave her behind on the Hive, to let her out of his sight, drugging her so she slept more soundly in the move.

He felt for the pocket of his coat, checking for that also. The temporary hiding place of her dagger that he had retrieved earlier. A slim blade with an equally slim blackened handle, carved as a whole from one piece of the rock, amokyl, that she had kept hidden in a secret compartment of her bed.

He could not comprehend why he had not read her mind and found it days ago. Nor why she had not used the weapon against him. Though naturally he was glad that she had not.

He ceased his pacing, eyeing up her form huddled beneath the cover and as he did so, he clutched at the pendant still, feeling its strength within him increase as he sought to drive out the Forfallen eavesdroppers that he knew would be listening.

Their shadow... there, in some deep recess of his mind.

The Queen turned upon the bed, blinked repeatedly at him in an attempt to focus and then pushed herself up onto one elbow.

"Todd ash Luyten?" she whispered, hoarsely. "We are there?"

He could nearly feel pity for her.

Nearly.

He nodded.

She must have heard the engines slow as they came out of hyperdrive.

"I am hungry. You would not consider beaming me up a Lantean? A little one would suffice. I would not be particular." She laughed as he snorted, all of his sympathy dissolving.

Then, she shuffled upright, appearing to listen to some distant sound, or lack of it, flopping back into the pile of pillows after only a few seconds, exhausted with the slight effort, staring at the darkness held in the ceilings, resignation in her voice.

"They do not fire upon you?" she actually sounded interested, all her previous sarcasm evaporating. She nodded knowingly. The Forfallen had answered her question? He sensed a strange vibration in the pendant at his fingertips and knew this was true.

"The Cervadian?"

Todd ash Luyten started. Cervadian. A human with the Wraith gene. He covered up his surprise as quickly as he had revealed it.

Not quick enough.

"Oh, come now," she laughed, and then coughed as the effort strained her lungs, trying to both stifle the fit and to speak also. "Don't... be... coy... you... have spoken with... Teyla Emmagan... and she has… prepared the way for you-"

Her eyes suddenly flew open wide and she held a fist over her mouth. Fear. Fear. Her hand dropped and she threw off the bedclothes, standing, staggering towards him, gripping one of the posts of the bed so tight her knuckles showed white.

"You... _know! _These are not my chambers! We are the only vessel here! You have not come for the Alliance meeting. I have not slept so long! We are early. You have come to... _John Sheppard! _You know! You know!" she screamed at him, horrified at the revelation. She stepped away from the bed, falling instantly without its support and he moved forward, catching her by her elbows, keeping her upright. He could feel her body trembling through his hands.

"I do not wish to be here! Take me away! Take me away!" and she collapsed in his arms. He scooped her up and returning the few steps back to the bed, he laid her back down on the bed. His old feelings of revulsion hit him at the sight of her curling over, the wails of "take me away from here!" echoing around the chamber.

He was puzzled why she should be affected this way. The Forfallen possessed her like some malicious spirit of human folklore? Or the Queen had no desire to be directly confronted by her evil doing?

"I need you close by," he coldly informed her. "Where I can watch you. I have been given permission to board Atlantis, yes. Teyla Emmagan has been assured that I am trustworthy. I need..."

What did he need? Her promise she would cause no trouble in his absence? In her weakened state, it would be doubtful she would achieve much. He turned away. What did he need? Her... approval? Was the need for a Queen always to haunt him? But yes. His conversation with Teyla Emmagan had moved something fresh in his mind... The need for a Queen. So primeval it stirred within his groin. He could not survive without a Queen. And all this striving to discover the Forfallen's victim. All this endeavour to safeguard John Sheppard now. No... no... nothing to do with protecting Wraithdom... but to protect... one Queen?

No, no, he was not thinking straight, and he shook his head in some vain effort to rid his mind of these thoughts. He must be single minded in his fight against the Forfallen.

He turned back to her, tempted though to stroke her bare shoulder. What harm was there?

He shuddered at the flesh cold against his fingertip.

Blackness loomed in his vision, replacing the silks of the curtains that adorned the bed. He thought he would fall as if in some deep pit. But this had happened before and he was practiced in driving it away. The Queen twisted at the contact and snarled at him. A light shimmered somewhere distant... the power of the pendant, and he concentrated on that, until the whole room re-instated itself.

His hand had caught up her hair. How...? He had no remembrance of touching her hair. And he allowed the strand of grey to fall to the pillow... numb… with this feeling that he had lost more than seconds of consciousness… he had lost _control_.

He stood upright, pulling his hands sharply to his sides, forming fists, chiding himself, insisting on the equanimity that his mind craved, aware of tightness in his chest that worked his lungs with the effect and sound of loose gravel, that insisted his physical needs were otherwise…

And he clasped the pendant tight.

The pendant... Hot now in his palm. Hot and not its usual warm... why? And he stared down at it perplexed. This was not science. There was no answer. The stone should not have felt hot to touch. He knew he should feel heat, but not to this degree. Surely this meant its power of protection were at its utmost. The stone protected him now? From what exactly? From himself?

They had reached him? Even now? Enticed him?

The Queen turned at the loss of touch. The flicker of... regret across those green eyes. The loss of comfort offered? No. No.

"They..." but she bit her tongue and held back.

"What? What is it?"

Sorrow surfaced again and then her face softened, and she rolled over once more, her sighing in unison with the rustling of her sheets, stretching and relaxing her long lean body – he could nearly take her... though he did not believe she would be fertile… but this was weakness! and... had he let his guard down?

He did not remember catching hold of her hair. Did not remember... How?

Doubt. Doubt clouding his mind like a black hole that insidiously spread its gloom across bursts of brilliant star ray. Doubt. They were making him doubt himself. And temptation. A new form of Forfallen attack? Seeds of doubt. 'Doubt is the crack to reason,' Fini had said. And he stubbornly pushed it away, setting his mouth hard.

"They... they... make me feel his pain," she moaned, "they did not tell me it would be reciprocal. Each time... each time they attempt to kill him, a little piece of me wrenches loose... withers... and now we are closer, he and I… they shall surely kill me also."

He always knew it would mean her end. And he would... regret it?

"See what they have done to me! You win never win Todd ash Luyten. Never. They are stronger than you. Even with your... _toys_."

He grimaced at the insult, twisting the pendant over and over between his fingers. Doubt. Doubt. No. No. Had the Forfallen 'taken him' in those few seconds? So subtle, this shadow, this enemy. Too strong for him? No. No. He gripped the pendant tight, squeezed shut those eyes, driving a stake down, thrusting down, building that wall stronger. A palisade against intruders. A castle that humans construct.

He must not fail.

"I will return with Colonel Sheppard," came his determined announcement out loud, surprising himself.

"And they said, they said, that when the second moon of Atlantis has completed its second cycle, a death shall be mourned. Is it not that time already? My senses tell me so. You are too late. And is he not sick also? I thought he was sick... how will you ever succeed if all you have on your side is one sick human? Who will soon be... dead," her ramblings, slurred, as she slowly drifted into sleep once more

"I will do it."

"I wish... I wish I could believe you."

-oAo-


	15. Chapter 15

A/N's – Many thanks again to reviewers!

Please note that Daughters of Hecate has now been changed from Action/Adventure/Hurt/Comfort to Action/Adventure/Drama as I believe these are more accurate categories for this story. I hope this doesn't spoil your continued enjoyment of this story.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

"Teyla, could you please come to the Control Room."

"Mr. Woolsey?" She tapped at her earpiece, looking to the sleeping John, surrounded by all the medical paraphernalia, and quite honestly, she had little wish to leave his side. Mr. Woolsey was his usual astute self, and must have read that meaning into her query.

He lowered his voice, his tone considerate.

"It's time. Todd is about to be beamed in."

"Yes... yes. I will come at once."

She exchanged a weak smile with the nurse who was checking John's IV. And looked across to Jenny who nodded. And back down at John, who slept. His body broken, swaddled in bandages, the red sores of burns evident on the skin of his chest and left arm not covered by gauze, surrounded by pillows for support, wires and tubes trailing all around. Hair limp on his forehead. Both arms, now, useless to him. Awake, which wasn't often, he was uncomfortable and unhappy at having to submit to the constant care and to being helpless. Awake, he had to face the fact that once recovered more fully he would be sent home to Earth. As he himself had said, a no-win situation.

"We'll be waking him in five minutes," Jenny assured her. Everyone had been given full instructions to keep this visit as short as possible. As safe as possible. Soon marines would be lining every length of the corridors from the Gate Room to the infirmary.

And that was the confusion that met her on her way to the upper levels.

Men running. The clamour of boots. The whirr of uniforms. Guns clinking and being readied. Orders shouted. Soldiers' bodies that graciously moved aside to allow her passage – that she thought she acknowledged. But her mind may have been too pre-occupied. What if this was a mistake? What if she'd been so very wrong to persuade Mr. Woolsey to allow Todd access to John? But nothing could go wrong? Every eventuality had been thought of, been taken care of. Nothing could go wrong. Evan, barely recovered from his own illness was, however, in his element arranging this and she felt grateful for the Major's competence. Ronon she knew would watch Todd like a hawk and was more than capable on his own to bring the Wraith down. Nothing was wrong. Nothing could go wrong.

She was last to arrive. Everyone was in place. Ronon. The Major, pale, and with one bandaged hand resting on his P90, at ease, professional and not revealing the tension that he must be sharing with all of them. Twenty guards ringed the parameter of the Gate Room with rifles poised to the centre. Mr. Woolsey and Rodney stood at the balcony looking down into the space below.

Mr. Woolsey nodded to her. "You are positive Teyla, that this is the right thing to do?" he queried.

"Oh, that's right! Look for a scapegoat already, why don't you!" protested Rodney.

"No. No. That is not my meaning! No blame will be apportioned to Miss Emmagan if this... um... goes belly up."

"Belly up?" Rodney eyed him oddly, as such language was not the Commander's custom.

"Yes. That's exactly what I mean, Dr. McKay. And as Colonel Sheppard would say: 'the buck stops here.' With me. You have my assurance of that." This was directed at Teyla and she bowed her head in gratitude.

"You are aware that I have my misgivings, Mr. Woolsey," she said, "but I have searched my mind once more and I can only believe that Todd's intentions are nothing but honourable."

"And we do need to find out what he's up to."

"I feel we have more to fear from this... _shadow_ than from Todd. But with this degree of precaution, of security..." trailed off Teyla.

"Nothing can go wrong," finished Rodney grimly, leaning on the handrail with his hands, staring across to the Gate, without doubt, lost to his thoughts of everything that _had_ gone wrong.

"Very well," and Mr. Woolsey pulled back his shoulders. "Chuck. Please inform the Wraith High Commander than he has permission to beam aboard." And nodded to those below to be ready.

"Oh yes, very Star trekkie..." muttered Rodney and Mr. Woolsey gave him a reproachful look.

But Rodney's remark, and the bitter humour that accompanied it, did little to lighten the concern on his face. He had been, and remained so, sceptical of all these proceedings…

'Ok. Ok. So this is bad luck is all down to some shadow!' he had said.

Teyla had quietened him, 'they might... hear.'

'Oh please!' Uttered with much eye-rolling. 'Next you'll be suggesting we remove all ladders, adopt black cats from a local cat sanctuary and commence the mass throwing of salt over our shoulders in the mess hall. And this is Todd! Space vampire deluxe! Why not issue everyone with a crucifix while you're at it!' This had been his predictable reaction. He was like all of Atlantis, unable to make a firm decision one way or another as to the cause of their misfortune. Perhaps, as a scientist requiring logical reasoning, he was floundering more than most.

Radek, looking bewildered, had said, 'Rodney, up to now there has been no rational explanation of any of the events, least of all, Ronon's gun.'

Rodney had looked at him, dumbfounded for a moment, eying Radek as some traitor, as some Judas from Earth's holy book. 'There doesn't have to be! Toast falls facedown because it does. Period! That's all the rationality you need.'

'This is Pegasus. And I have come to understand that here, we have to be ready for, have out minds open to, all eventualities,' Mr. Woolsey had pointed out.

'And this is Todd. You don't trust him. Ever,' Ronon had said, significantly.

'And this is John. I would want to help him anyway that I can," Teyla had said. And they had all fallen silent, acknowledging perhaps acceptance of her particular argument.

Teyla, Mr. Woolsey and Rodney made their way down the stairs, positioning themselves behind the marine condone. They were fully expectant of the Wraith beam's activation but its bright white light still shocked the occupants of the Gate Room. All arms were raised, or faces turned against its intensity.

And there was Todd.

Alone and black. Once again an unwelcome guest on Atlantis. The noise of guns prepped loud, echoing.

Nodding, he turned slowly, first to the left and then to the right, surveying the circle of P90s aimed his way, without reproach, with understanding, but also with something of his habitual leer.

The only sounds were of the slight movements of the marines as they held their weapons steady and his low gravelly breathing. He had come on peaceful terms but his appearance and bearing could never do anything other than suggest menace.

And Teyla shivered, closing her eyes tight against his expected rasping voice in her head, seconds before it reached her.

'_Teyla.' _

She sprung open her eyes and Todd slightly inclined his head in greeting. And possibly... yes, in thanks. She could not tell. It was conceivable that her fearfulness was disabling the mind reading. Or he was so intent on keeping the shadow at bay, he was blocking her too. She sensed his appreciation. Just as she sensed his struggle. Just as she sensed that for all the warrior Wraith facade that Todd offered, beneath was great trepidation – not cowardice but a fear that his strength might break and he might fail. Her intuition? No, there were other indications. Clues. The way that he fidgeted with the pendant. The odd tremor on his high cheekbone that the black zigzag markings on his face could not conceal. Both these, revealed his great unease.

He turned his attention to the marines once more, one hand always on that pendant, stroking the stone absentmindedly. She had seen it in the vision of earlier, its colour a striking blue, she'd noticed, stark against the black leathery glossiness of his coat and she considered it unusual personal adornment for a Wraith.

Then... his eyes fixed on Ronon and his face set hard.

"I see that your gun is not set on stun, Ronon Dex. I mean you no harm."

"Let _us_ be the judge of that," squinted Major Lorne above his own weapon. Ronon remained silent. He had been instructed not to provoke Todd in any way and was adhering to his promise not to do so – except for the setting of the gun. And Mr. Woolsey did nothing to reprimand his defiance.

Todd continued to address Mr. Woolsey who had made his way, as did Rodney and Teyla through the circle of marines, "and yet, I come as promised, unarmed, alone. I am no threat. Indeed," and he chuckled, "I fed before I came.'

The whole room looked alarmed, not encouraged by his attempt at levity.

Mr. Woolsey coughed. "Yes, well, judging by the device you discharged aboard the Daedalus, you can hardly blame our caution. Before we can permit you to proceed any further-"

"A full search? Naturally." Todd bowed slightly, though scarcely taking his eyes from the assembled gathering. The people of Atlantis were not alone with their mistrust.

Two marines, one with a scanner, stepped forward and hesitated before Todd. And looked back to Mr. Woolsey, their faces full of question, waiting for the order to proceed.

"A scanner. To discover any concealed weapons," explained Mr. Woolsey, clearly uncomfortable that he had given his assurance of a safe passage to the infirmary and this seemed to be contrary to that ideal.

"Can you raise your arms... sir?" asked one marine, awkward, unsure whether he had used the correct appellation for a Wraith Commander.

Todd did so. An impressive figure. Tall, regal, arms outstretched at right angles to his body. Though Teyla sensed some nervousness on his part at being unable to touch his pendant. And this came to her. A wraith... with a talisman? The action of a human surely? This was giving him some protection from the... shadow?

"Sir? Ha! At least, one of your number shows some respect..." he said, as one marine scanned him and the other dug deep in pockets and patted about his coat, arms and legs. And he turned suddenly to Major Lorne, who had lowered his weapon, and had picked up chains and shackles that clinked noisily, "which the use of those would not!" His voice was now raised and edged with anger.

"If you come peacefully like you claim, you wouldn't object" muttered Lorne.

"I am the head of a Wraith alliance and as such should be offered the honour of any head of a diplomatic group. I know that you would not do this to such a one on Earth! Besides," and his hand was immediately back to the pendant once the marines had shaken their heads – the search had produced nothing. "How can I help Colonel Sheppard if I am in chains?"

Mr. Woolsey beckoned Lorne back and the Major withdrew, meeting Ronon's eye, neither man favouring the decision made.

"We will escort you now," and Mr. Woolsey, gestured to Todd, inviting him to ascend the steps.

"Wait a minute! The pendant." Rodney had been silent to this point, considering, rubbing his chin. Now he held up a hand. "What's the big deal with the pendant? I mean... not exactly the regular steam punk thing, is it, that you guys wear? Protection? Against what?" He turned to the puzzled Mr Woolsey. "Looks like a Lantean protection device. It might have other powers. Radek!" And Radek's head appeared over the railings above. "Bring the kit!"

"This will take time! Time that is not ours to squander!" declared Todd with obvious impatience. The room seemed alert again at this new show of temper that he did little to keep under control.

'_Teyla. Teyla. The moon will set shortly. Twenty minutes! Twenty minutes is all I have!'_

She had never heard him panic like this before. It seemed inconceivable that Todd could be affected this way.

Teyla placed her hand on Rodney's arm.

"He has been tested for weapons. Surely a test as to composition can wait until the infirmary?"

"He can take it off," retorted Ronon. "Radek can look at it while he's seeing Sheppard."

"If I mean harm by wearing it, would I not make more effort to conceal it?" offered Todd, more placatory. "Your scanner has not found anything untoward concerning its structure. It is simply polished rock."

"Oh, and you have it for sentimentality sake? Like yeah, an heirloom passed down by your great grandfather, huh?" said Rodney. "Radek!" And Radek came running down the stairs, with a tool box, stopping at the bottom step, obviously apprehensive that he was being asked to approach Todd.

Rodney held out his hand, palm-up, expectant, waiting for Todd to remove the pendant simply because Rodney demanded it.

'_Teyla. Please. It is... necessary.' _

She looked Todd over. The slight tremor on his lips. The pleading of those yellow eyes. Was he genuine? But this was for John.

"Rodney. No," she said, firmly taking hold of her friend's arm.

"What?" he asked surprised that she touched him.

"Let it be. He... needs it."

"Oh," still intent on being belligerent. "Oh? He does?" He then relented, suddenly seeing the hidden meaning in her face. Ronon's face was more threatening than ever and Major Lorne rolled his eyes. "Two strikes don't mean you win. We're watching you all the way, buddy."

"As you wish," bowed Todd, but with little show of smugness. The sporting terminology had not blurred Evan's meaning for the Wraith.

"I will lead the way?" ventured Teyla. Faces turned to her including Todd's, nodding, eager to be moving, perspiration now beading on his forehead as if from exertion.

'_You do not question me? For this, I am grateful.'_

She saw it then. The dark swathe of shadow in his mind, bubbling, churning as some dark thundercloud or the smoking billows above a distant volcano. And she felt his tremendous effort to hold the shadow at bay. Saw it in the tension as he moved, as holding in some internal hurt. Even a slight dragging of his feet, a slowness in his walk as he struggled to keep pace with his escort. She sensed he strove hard to keep alert to the dangers around him, his eyes darting from marine to marine that shouldered guns, each in turn as the group passed along corridors. Todd was placing his own safety in the hands of the Lanteans, thereby facing a two pronged threat. Yes, she imagined he would, indeed, be under great stress. They... whoever they were, were fighting him every step of the way. Once he stumbled. On a staircase down - the stairs had been taken as they could not trust him to be alone with only one or two guards in a transporter. He found his footing, waving aside help that was never offered.

'_You require assistance?'_ she asked.

'_Not... for the moment but the time will come...'_

Into the infirmary at last. Jenny approached the group, leaving the side of another patient, not able to disguise the apprehension she felt at this tall dark figure among the beds. The guards dropped back as Ronon and Major Lorne closed in, their guns steadily fixed at Todd's head. Although not physically restrained, it was as if the Wraith were still chained and shackled by some invisible line.

Todd stumbled again, leaning on the end of an empty bed for support. A trembling evident despite the thickness of his coat. He gasped, dropping his head, as if in pain. And Teyla saw this too – the black smoke in his mind nearly engulfing him - did she imagine it? Rapid clicking. A shape emerging. Soot black. A giant iratus bug standing on hind legs. Gone as quickly as it appeared, driven out by the sheer will of Todd.

'_Todd?'_ she faltered, attempting to keep her own fear locked in and concealed from the others.

And she was now hearing clicking.

John. John had complained of clicking and they thought him mad. Had this been a sound of imminent danger?

Todd could not return her query.

"What's wrong?" Asked Jenny sharply, coming closer to Todd's side.

"Are you sick?" Was Mr. Woolsey's question, actually concerned. "The Hoffan Disease?" looking to Jenny for confirmation.

"This had better not be some trick," threw in Ronon, more tense and alert than ever, narrowing the space between his gun and Todd's head.

Todd, gulping in deep draughts of air, made his earlier gesture and put out one hand to wave them aside, the other clutched at the pendant so hard, Teyla was certain the stone might break in two.

"No. No. It is nothing like that." He lifted his head, his drawing in of breath now a palpable hiss and his eyes scanned the room, evidently confused by his surroundings.

'_Todd?'_

'_I can... deal with this.' _

'_I am uncertain however if I can assist you-' _

'_I am resolved! They mean to stop me. I will not allow it!'_ and she did not doubt his claim, even if it stemmed from pride. And he stood straight once more.

"Where is he?" Confusion ruled his mind still, as if blinded by the vision that gripped him. "Where is he?" he demanded, his voice, harder, louder. Desperate even. He wiped a hand across his eyes, straining to focus on the room.

"You are evidently ill. I think it advisable that you withdraw until another time," suggested Mr. Woolsey

"There is on other time! It is now! Do you not understand? I must speak with John Sheppard _now_!" he snarled.

"Ok! Ok! Just lower it, will you?" and Jenny was waving him down. "He needs quiet. I've never exactly taken to the idea of him being disturbed like this. Guns and everything... " she trailed off, glancing anxiously back to the drawn curtains over to one corner.

"He is there?" and Todd pushed past her much to the annoyance of Major Lorne.

"Hey! No sudden moves otherwise it's a bullet in the brains. Comprendez?"

Teyla pulled at Todd's arm, staying him. "You must allow one of us to go in first. He isn't aware he's to have visitors. We endeavour always to keep him calm and not to upset him. And we have made much noise already."

"Yes, yes. Of course. It is remiss of me. Incorrect thinking. We have so little time. The moon sets soon... They... they confuse me. Let Dr. Keller go in. I must... I must prepare also. Gather strength. You will stay here?" His voice nearly pathetic, appealing to her directly, oblivious to all the eyes looking at each other with their uncertainty over the Wraith's behaviour and demeanour. Todd had gone mad?

Dr. Keller immediately left them, disappearing behind the curtains.

"Oh boy, oh boy," muttered Rodney, swirling round a hand to his temple. And Ronon, looked to the wall, shaking his head in disgust and disbelief, both men certain that they had gotten it so wrong to allow Todd thus far.

Teyla ignored them and bowed her head to the incoming thoughts from Todd.

'_I have been projecting a screen to cordon him off from their influence – they nearly breeched it. I need you now. I need your help to maintain its integrity as I speak with him. Can you do this?'_

'_I will do my best. But I feel this may be beyond me... I have seen-'_

The shadow bulged, pushing and pressing its threat into that space she perceived as her contact with Todd. She closed her eyes and willed it back, discovering that she could attempt this, though suspecting it was Todd undertaking most of the burden.

'_I sensed their power, Todd. The way that it bears you down. How certain can you be that this is the best for John to approach him now?'_

The clicking again came loud in her ears and she shuddered, not wishing to see what might appear in the mist. John had described a giant Iratus tearing out her heart while he lay trapped in the stasis pod. These in the recess of Todd's mind were equal in that menace and she could feel something contract inside of her rather than face this danger. A temptation to instruct Lorne to lock Todd up. Or even to turn and run. It would be that easy.

'_Ha! They are good, are they not! They put that thought there!'_ He meant, for her to take flight. Though his retort made her alert again, determined to steel her will.

'_Again, I ask you to trust me,'_ he resumed. _'He is in constant danger, yes, but if we do nothing, then that danger will be a million fold.'_

The sound of Jenny pulling the curtains aside was the signal for the group to file in.

Jenny returned to stand to John's left, close to the medical equipment. Lorne followed in first, ahead of Todd and Teyla, and then fell in behind Teyla at John's right, jabbing his gun into Todd's midriff, who'd positioned himself at the foot of the bed. Ronon, entered the cubicle last, finding only empty space immediately behind Todd. His gun was now lowered but fixed on Todd all the same. Mr. Woolsey and Rodney hung back beyond the curtains.

It hurt Teyla to see John like this, centre stage to the strange gathering around him and she wished that he could be left alone. But such sentiments were wrong and would weaken her - and weakness would let in those unwelcome images that she knew were only a breath away. She closed her eyes to listen to the voices of the others and to concentrate, but sensed the malevolence again, seeping across a dark floor, or like some disembodied huge claw... clicking. A wave of nausea threatened and she desired to sit, the effort to keep her thoughts collected, draining her.

Concentrate. Listen to the voices of the others.

Woolsey's, "Teyla?" reached her.

"I am fine." Though she was not. Far from it. And she hoped he could understood why she was standing thus.

Jenny. Calling John's name softly. Possibly stooping to the pillow at his head. Dark black hair against the pale green. She imagined it, creating a picture in her head, helping her to drive away these demons.

John had been sleeping and Teyla heard him stir, giving out a nearly imperceptible moan. And Todd close by, uttered a low growl, to draw up his defences. She could feel his hand move repeatedly over the talisman. She envisaged the stone. Large. Like a shield, that buffeted the shadow, causing it to tremor and shy away. She allowed its strength to flow through her limbs, her veins, adding to her own strength.

The noises of the medical equipment. All this detail, she permitted into her mind, filtering her immediate present to prevent what might be the awful future.

"Sorry... I must have... dropped off again," came John's apology, slow and slurred.

"Your visitors?" coaxed Jenny. And Teyla pictured him struggling to focus on those around him, fighting the effects of his drugs.

"Visitors? Yeah... Visitors? More like... a committee," and he tried to laugh but coughed and wheezed instead. Smoke was still clogging his lungs. "Hell. Todd... wha's Todd doing here? You come… to gloat? Hell!" It hurt her gravely to hear him struggle so. She felt his attempted movement on the bed. And Todd shifting at her side, silent, struggling also with his own battle.

"He has come to explain things. The reason behind our... run of bad luck," explained Mr. Woolsey from the back.

"Bad... luck?" And he coughed again and laid back his head heavily on the pillow, exhausted with the attempt at only a few words.

"Yeah, and it'd better be good and he'd better not be behind it all!" And Teyla sensed Ronon raising his gun to the back of Todd's head.

And she felt Todd now in her head. And the dark shape pushing at the giant shield of stone.

'_Help... help me, Teyla!'_

Todd's words took the detail of the room away. Weakened her. Transported her to an empty place of danger. And the voices of the infirmary became distant voices.

"Yes. And for someone in a tremendous hurry to speak, he's slow about it," chided Rodney. "Teyla?" Her name then spoken with concern.

"Please listen to Todd, John," she said, despite herself.

"Teyla? Hey, Teyla?" The voices of Ronon and John together.

She wanted to move but found she could not. Transfixed to the spot. And she looked to the floor to see what was holding her feet – a swarm, a torrent of iratus bugs. A tidal wave of iratus bugs under John's bed that reached now to her knees, its depths rising ever higher.

And she could do nothing.

"Teyla! Someone catch her quick!" Jenny.

"What's wrong with her?" Rodney.

Horror all around as the writhing flood of black rapidly reached her chin. Stifling her. Suffocating her. Drowning her. The clicking of their wings so loud and she powerless to raise her arms against the press of a million insect bodies, to even close her ears. The clicking so loud, creating a pulse that seemed to crack her very skull with its pressure. Unbearable pain followed. The sensation of oily stinking fluid filling her eyes and mouth. A vision of herself with blood running from the cavities of her eyes and mouth. A skull spewing out black gore and mess.

She was going to die. And she could do nothing.

'_Illusion! Nothing more! Do not give in! Do not give in!'_ Called over Todd.

But in these seconds, she could do nothing, as the swarm continued to assault her. And her weakness also weakened him and he could not prevent the stone shield from cracking. First one crack appeared and then another. And shards of stone, splinters dropped around him as his power diminished.

As did his hope.

'_Whatever happens, never give up trusting me!'_ And the stone fragmented, allowing the shadow to escape via the broken fissures, quickly expanding, to finally obliterate Todd in its black void.

And a bloodied moon set on a dark horizon.

And in the stone's place, a Forfallen stood. Black against black. Its cloak, flapping in a windless landscape.

And Teyla found she was able to open her eyes, albeit weakly. There were no longer any insects about her, giant or otherwise. And Lorne and Ronon held her. Had prevented her from falling to the floor.

And they looked across in horror as Todd plunged a black dagger into John's chest.

-oAo-


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Illum dreams of the witch. Her hair is silver and she wears a long green dress. It appears extravagant for a witch, though it is soiled. Her teeth are pointed. She could bite flesh. Her eyes are green as her dress. Black slits for pupils. She is close to him. He notices these things as she close to him. It is all he can look at when her hand is on his temple. When her hand is on his temple, his head feels as if it will split in two. His hands are bound. She unties him and tosses down the rope. He's glad that she walks away eventually. And he groans and pants with the last of the pain, his free hands scraping across his face to ease down his tension.

As she walks across his chamber, he knows that she has taken something from him but he cannot remember what.

His Master is there too. But his Master does not tell her to give it back. His Master, who asks Illum to trust him, does not do this for Illum. His Master does not tell the witch that it is bad to treat Illum so.

"A second time I do this for you? I am not your slave to command!" spits out the witch to his Master.

His dream ends and another begins.

The witch has two pendants about her neck. Two pendants of the bluest of stones that Illum has ever seen. One is engraved with his name. Illum. Did the witch steal his pendant and therefore his name?

He has seen a pendant like this before, hanging at his Master's neck. Did the witch also steal his Master's pendant?

Once, he saw a witch screaming his name, bound by the entrails of a beast. But he cannot remember where... perhaps she was being punished for stealing the pendant? Perhaps this was a Wraith punishment?

He does not know when his life, is life, or when his life is a dream... it is all as one. It is both unreal and reality.

"You trust me now, Illum?" his Master asks.

The witch has told Illum he must follow and obey his Master and not question him, no matter what, so Illum says, "yes, Master."

His Master, however, seems saddened at this. "It would be good if you would also consider me a friend, Illum."

"You are not my kind, Master," says Illum.

"Then, I must be content with trust alone," sighs his Master. "Can you trust me, Illum, can you trust my promise, that no matter what happens on Forfallen, I will protect you to the utmost of my ability? And after Forfallen, you will be free?"

Illum walks the ship alone. His right arm aches and is heavy. He feels he has no friend in the whole wide Universe. He walks alone.

Did the witch steal his hope?

He hears his Master's voice and hides behind a column to overhear. He cannot see who it is that his Master talks to.

"I want power, power over all of Pegasus. And you, Forfallen can acquire this for me. Of that I am confident. I arrive at your planet before your dawn... Your price? My soul... naturally."

Illum walks away. He never knows whether he dreams, or not...

-oAo-

Todd ash Luyten picked himself up from the floor where they had thrown him. Unsteady on his legs. His breathing grating and uneasy from the struggle of so many human hands upon him.

'_Teyla. Teyla. Speak with me! I did not betray you!'_

'_Leave me be!'_

And he allowed it. For he had failed.

Six sides to this box prison. A force field that hummed. His destined place to die agonizingly slow of starvation. He had sent his ship away to a safe distance to pacify the Lanteans. Too far for him to contact. And now, uncertain that the Wraith allies would think him significant enough to search for and rescue, sending in their Hives.

He had failed. A wraith who had failed in his mission.

Then the answer would be no.

He would be alone, condemned even by his own kind.

Left here to rot... this had been his circumstance when captured by the genii but then, at least, the genii had fed him a human from time to time… and there in the genii cell, it had been the chance appearance of John Sheppard that had secured his release.

There would be no such second chances on Atlantis.

Why had the Lanteans not killed him? It might have been more merciful than having to face this failure.

Todd ash Luyten looked down at his hands... turned them over and over... disbelief at his ineptitude... disbelief at his haughtiness that he thought he could defeat the Forfallen... He stared at those hands, still covered in the blood of John Sheppard, and his mind replayed the image of the Colonel's body jerking, impaled by the blade, eyes staring at him, accusing, before they hazed and John Sheppard was gone...

Todd looked to the door. To the two guards who stood impassive. He tossed his head at them, letting out a low growl.

Hope gone...

He knew that the Forfallen would laugh at him and feed from his weakness, making him weaker than ever. And he already longed for death while he still had pride, while he knew that the Wraith nation still ruled supreme in Pegasus. For its demise was surely certain now.

And he looked at his sleeve.

Tricked? He had attempted to convince Teyla Emmagan that he had been tricked into killing John Sheppard.

Those lost moments. When he'd been tempted. When he had caressed the Queen's hair, the Forfallen had overpowered him, compelled him to remove her amokyl dagger from his pocket to conceal it in the seam of his coat sleeve. To conceal it from human eyes in the stiffness of the fabric. Hidden it from sight and in that instance of weakness had hidden it from his memory too.

And carved from stone, it had obviously been overlooked by the Lantean scanner.

He had fought them all that time whilst unwittingly taking their instrument of murder directly to their victim. He had been reduced to nothing more than a human errand boy.

Death.

Seen a death before they took control of him and forced him to use the dagger.

A wraith skull. Its brains slobbering through its eye sockets. The stench of weeks of decay. Its hair matted with slime and black mud. The thought of revenge. Not his. Not his revenge. They had… intoxicated him? Yes. Yes. He had been intoxicated by one of their spells. Put thoughts there that were not his. He had even called out as he plunged down the blade.

'For all dead Wraith!'

Manipulated. Their puppet.

And Teyla...

He had arrogantly thought that Teyla was assisting him as he gathered strength to fight them off? But they had been using her as a decoy – to give him space and opportunity to commit the deed.

All this he was seeing clearly now. Then the pendant was of no use? This too had been sabotaged? And he looked down at it – in their haste to imprison him the Lanteans had not removed it – one spot of blood marked its surface – and... this was odd... hairline cracks crossed its surface... zigzags... as his own facial markings... mocking him.

Bah! How they must now laugh at him! The futility of all his effort. How could a commander be capable of such foolishness! Such a one did not deserve to lead!

Self-pity!

Slogot!

And he thumped one bar of the cell...

The guards laughed at his stupidity as he licked at his hand, tingling, smarting from the resultant shock.

He turned away from them, nursing his wound. Arrrr... softly... blood drawn... arrr... softly... see the way the burn heals... but see the way it mingles with Sheppard's...

Bah!

A sign, however?

Ha! Leave superstitions and omens to the humans!

'If I had wanted him dead, do you think I would have avoided the heart? Tell them, Dr Keller! Tell them,' he had begged, (Begged? He! Yes, begged!) as he twisted against the hands that pinned down his arms, but away from the gun of Ronon that pressed hard between his eyes.

And she, attempting to curb the flow of blood, screaming for assistance, shouted back at them. 'It's difficult to tell! But he's alive! Just!'

In the smallest measure of time, the blade descended, slow motion, as if free-falling and the rush of air had brought him to his senses, and will had fought will and he had missed the target.

'Let me save him! Teyla! I can do this!' But his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

He looked to the door again.

Hope...

Hope was John Sheppard and hope might be dying.

He sat suddenly. Kneeling on the floor as Fini had taught him. Bah... images of Fini's vegetable plot... but he needed to think on the pendant. He needed to meditate... to maintain the protection to Sheppard. The Forfallen had abandoned Todd ash Luyten? If not dead, they possibly saw that he was locked away and was no longer a threat. The shadow in his mind had receded now though he had no remembrance of when they had left him exactly. Well, well... some good had come of this... but once he resumed his meddling once more, it was to be anticipated that they would return.

And reeling from their own failure, the Forfallen would seek to kill again.

-oAo-

One Second moaned. Somewhere in the recesses of the cave. Ef Xo believed it might be Ga Hi but she lacked the energy to check.

The potion had been powerful – it had to be. A storm had brewed, rolled over the mountain, put out the fires with its downpour and had since faded into the distance in the time they'd been held in their trance. She remembered the noise of the lashing rain against the cave's entrance, the steely rods and pin points of water illuminated by flashing of lightning but little else, such had been her concentration.

She swiped both front legs over her eyes to clear her vision, and stiffly propped herself up to something resembling sitting using her middle legs, to blearily take in her Seconds, all similarly laying prone from exhaustion, scattered about the floor, where they had fallen, legs and thoraxes all at odd angles. Iratus bugs and Forfallen young nibbled playfully at the sleeping bodies knowing they would come to no harm. The surface layer of scale of their Forfallen betters and elders a great delicacy to them.

Her abdomen felt strangely slack and empty. And she recognized the sensation as impotence.

They had failed.

There was no euphoria. No drunken stupor.

There had been no Wraith Queen soul to feed upon.

The Lantean moon had set and still John Sheppard lived.

For how much longer? For surely his wounds were so grave he would soon succumb. Was it not possible that she had failed, not in the deed but simply in the prediction?

No. She had failed. And such failure would mean her certain death. She scanned the cave again. To Ka Oh. A low whirring as the Second's plates rose and fell in rhythm to her slumbering breathing. Her dear friend Ka Oh would supplant her? Be the means to her end? No. No. It could not be so. Each and every one she had trained. But they had seen the doubt in her eyes that one time... it was the reason why Ga Hi had gone in search of gifts to lighten her spirits. But even Ga Hi might turn against her if called upon to do so by the others. And was not Ef Xo's doubt the reason why they had failed? Why Todd ash Luyten had been enabled to master them?

The pendant. She had seen it crack. Thought its power redundant. The Cervadian, Teyla Emmagan had thought so too and they had forced the Cervadian to withdraw using her to distract the guards.

Some good fortune was on Ef Xo's side.

But why had the Lanteans not killed Todd ash Luyten?

It was her, the Cervadian!

Love. Love. Love. Love and hope. Humans! Why do they think like this? A tenuous thread that binds the past and present to the future. Hope that Todd ash Luyten might restore this John Sheppard to renewed health?

But love, love was not Todd ash Luyten's motivation!

The Wraith Commander... it was not out of the kindness of his heart that he sought to warn to John Sheppard but to use him as a tool. To destroy the Forfallen! Ha! He believed in that legend? Well, so be it!

She searched for the Wraith's presence again. But he had blocked her. A simple block as in the early days but with her energy depleted she could not bypass it.

Hatred and revenge were her strengths and had always proved to be the fire of her determination. The feeding of the soul of the Wraith Queen would have given them more power, enabled her to create more Seconds and thereby generate greater power still. But she was not called, Ef Xo, the Infinite One for nothing! It was ordained. It was her right to take the Forfallen to supremacy in Pegasus. Her third strength was her ambition.

Renewed purpose bid her to climb to her feet and she staggered over to the pool, not mindful of the half-dozen iratus bugs, screeching as she trampled them underfoot.

She hauled herself up to the edge of the Jzoika, aware of the sharp edges of the rock scraping at the gristle of her outer shell but not particularly caring.

One claw stirred up a whirlpool in the steaming water below. She reached over to a near-by shelf, picked up a small pot and tossed in its contents of sulphur yellow divination powders. The waters effervesced and then as she chanted, stilled as some mirror.

Todd ash Luyten. Where...? Ah, in the holding cells. So he was not trusted with his freedom then.

And John Sheppard? Surely, surely he would die, kept alive solely by those machines that enabled breath and maintained life fluids. She concentrated on reading the human script. He had been operated on yet again to stop the haemorrhage. Such stupidity on her part! And Ef Xo cursed that they had not bidden Todd ash Luyten to use the blade over and over.

She could perhaps interfere with the machines again? She felt perplexed. Her eyes closed to the scene. And re-opened. Figures moved about the human's bed. The one by the name of Rodney McKay. Not a doctor of medicine but checking the machines for malfunctions. Complaining of the time it was taking. Reproved by the doctor. But he assures her, what has happened before will not happen again. He has a scanner with him always that will detect faults instantly. And a guard stands at the door. And there is Ronon Dex. So now... there is Todd ash Luyten to triumph over. McKay, the doctor, Ronon Dex and guards to distract. The numbers are mounting of those she has to overcome. And she weakened by this last attempt…

The water rippled suddenly, disturbed. A low rumble. She lifted her antennae to test the air. Distant thunder as another storm approached.

Numbers... water... vibration...

An idea came to her mind and she rubbed her mandibles together in absolute glee that she had not felt for sometime. She stiffly eased and stretched her joints, to make her way from one sleeping Second to the next, kicking them awake. And as they stirred and grumbled and got to their feet, she ruefully rubbed at her stomach that felt so empty. She gathered up an iratus bug, crunching at its body in her mandibles, knowing it would only quarter satisfy the hunger that she felt.

'_Up! Up!'_ she clicked, drawing her cloak twice around her humped shoulders with fresh zeal as she headed to the very back of the cave where she safeguarded her most potent spell book. One written so very long ago. That none of her predecessors had dared to ever use. It was one thing to meddle with the paths of human actions and destiny – another with nature itself. When they simply fed on the weaknesses of the soul, there had never been a need. Now it was a question of self-preservation. Todd ash Luyten had declared war on them. So be it.

'_Up! Up! I need you to gather every Third on the mountain and the marshes. Every last one of them! Now! Now! I need... noise!'_

She intended to send a... resonance, spirally down the Trochlor lines, so intense that a whole ocean moved.

-oAo-

"Thank you for agreeing to see me." His eyes downcast? Like some cowering dog or wayward mule chastised with a beating? Todd ash Luyten had seen the humans treat their beasts so.

Pride seeped through his demeanour of apology and he dared a glance up to Teyla Emmagan standing on the other side of the bars.

"It is more than you deserve!" came her instant harsh words.

He nodded and turned away at the admonition. At her anger. His breath as a sigh. Just so. Her reaction understandable.

"How is he?" he murmured, hardly daring to hear the news.

She hesitated. Possibly not expecting his concern? And he was concerned? Well, well... but if Sheppard died, he was correct to assume the consequences would be very grave for one Todd ash Luyten. If Sheppard lived, there was hope that Todd might live also – this was his understanding of the human code of laws. More forgiving than the Wraith's where any error meant... instant extinction.

Teyla herself sighed, and turned, relenting the information. And Todd ash Luyten sensed tension of a different kind, that was not anger but one that struggled to speak and put a dam on tears.

"He has successfully undergone surgery but Dr. Keller says his condition is still of concern. Due to his previous weakened state… it... it... could go either way."

Todd ash Luyten slowly nodded and... he may as well venture his innocence once more and take advantage of her softening.

Her eyes found the blood on his hands and he quickly hid them behind his back.

"Then, it was as I claimed and I missed the heart?" Gentleness. Did he put the exact degree of gentleness and sympathy into his voice? He hoped he did. A narrow road it was to follow, this sincerity.

She looked up sharply. Her eyes hardened once more. Had he lost her?

"You stabbed him, Todd!"

"You know that I was... _unable_ to do otherwise." Engulfed. Disabled from following his own thought and action. "I misjudged them. Forgot how manipulative they were, even of Wraith minds. At the last moment, I fought through and saved him." He was going to press this point home.

And he moved closer to her, closer to the bars. He must show his earnestness in this otherwise he was never going to be released from here.

"Nothing has changed. This is a delay, a set back only. John Sheppard is strong, Teyla Emmagan – he will survive my attack. I know this – remember I hold part of his life force and it has remained… vital, vigorous within me. It is my wish to continue to save him. Even now, if you would check, I am protecting him. And he needs it. For once they discover that he lives still, they will return to finish. Can you not see this? I need to be free. You need to release me!" And yes, indeed, his voice had climbed a few decibels so it was hardly surprising that the guards behind Teyla inched forward, ready with their weapons, uncertain.

"Ha! What do you have to fear? Am I not behind your bars!" he threw at the two men.

Teyla hesitated. "You are not to be believed. Not a second time. I am sorry." And she turned to leave.

"Then... I have achieved something if only _you_ believe me. You saw them?"

She stopped. But did not turn.

"I could not possibly have created those images in your mind, Teyla Emmagan! I have not that power! And… and what would be my motive to kill Sheppard?" he addressed to her back, anxious to persuade her.

A snort from one of the guard. A glare from the other.

Still resolute, she said nothing and continued to the door.

"It does not have to be 'it could go either way!' I can cure him with the Gift! You know this! He can be walking out of your infirmary in ten of your minutes!" Desperate? Pleading with her? He had stooped so low?

She passed back between the two marines.

"I tried to convince the others before. But your action..." and she shook her head, her voice tired, grieved as she reflected on the events of the infirmary. "It condemns you."

"I have said-"

"I know," she said turning sideways to him. "But how can you say that they will not overpower you once more? They were working through you as you claim? And because I came to your assistance and put forward arguments for your cause, I believe I am compromised also. My judgment may be questioned by the others. And..." she was facing the door again, prepared to leave, "I even consider that I, too, cannot be the judge of my own thoughts. How much has been put there by others. By you even? Good bye, Todd. Please do not try to contact me again."

"It is not my cause! It is the cause of the whole of Pegasus!" he roared again. And he paced along the bars, hoping find the most favourable position to keep her in sight for as long as possible.

"Please do not persist with this! I am not listening!" she threw over her shoulder.

"Have you not ever asked yourself why they have singled out John Sheppard?" He had to find some means to hold her attention. And now, with all that had passed, it mattered little that she knew more of the Forfallen.

The question had the desired effect for she stood once more before the bars.

Ah... curiosity

"Or how indeed they learned of his existence in the first place?"

Teyla and the guards exchanged glances.

"Tell me what you know though I fear it may be invention on your part."

"You saw them?" He repeated.

"One. Yes. Michael..." and she swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before resuming. It evidently pained her to talk of the So-Ka, the half-Wraith. "We discovered a laboratory of Michael's where he had engineered an iratus hybrid – slightly larger than a man, that walked, human fashion, on its hind legs. I saw one of these. But Michael's hybrids were... beasts, and how could a beast such as that, be responsible for the control that you say they possess?"

"How can I be brief with the explanation? For it is of the utmost urgency that I act now. Immediately. They will be swift with the next attack." And he began unbuttoning the top of his coat, which puzzled Teyla.

"What you saw had nothing to do with Michael. The Forfallen. An evolution of the Iratus as were Wraith, except they did not develop the humanoid form as their feeding processes did not demand it." He reached into an inside pocket and drew out three of the folded scrolls of the librarian. "These, these explain their origins better than I and I had hoped to show them to your Commander and John Sheppard... to persuade..."

She frowned, seeing his offer as delay. He pushed them back into his coat.

"Later, perhaps. It would indeed take time to peruse them and time is not on our side. The Forfallen... Their brains, however, are highly evolved in the psychic region – this I have to admit. They use the Trochlor lines as a means of communication to transmit their power and to... feed on souls, those weakened by greed, revenge, doubt, fear – human and Wraith alike. The Wraith... we believed we had eradicated them. They need to be destroyed for when they feed it has the effect of a ripple: their power and numbers increases incrementally. If permitted to develop to their ultimate potential, it is possible they may even have the ability to reshape reality.

They have taken over a Wraith Queen of the Wraith allies, the sister of the caretaker of the hive you awakened those six years ago. John Sheppard is responsible for this sister's death and she requested that they kill John Sheppard on her behalf. She had not realised that in allowing them to do so, gave them access to feeding on her soul. They must be prevented. One, two, three more souls acquired this way, may tip them over into the next evolutionary stage. And then there would be no limit to the evil. Their hatred of both humans and Wraith is... boundless. Ha! And there was I seeking an alliance of our kinds to defeat unforeseen enemies when these were in my sight all that time. "

"You said that John can help you? This is why you wished to save him?"

"Their ability to self-heal is beyond even that of Wraith. Your equivalent of nuclear weaponry was used to blast them into nothingness and yet apparently they survived. Legend has it, they are able to taking refuge in the Trochlor lines as thought, dormant, slipping back into their previous forms when it is deemed safe again. But legend also has it, they may be killed completely by a victim – totally annihilated. And... the victim on this occasion is John Sheppard."

"And how would you propose to even get near them as it appears they know your every move."

"I keep my plan protected-"

"Secret, you mean?" There, that eyebrow raised at him. She seemed as if she would leave again, growing impatient with him.

"We would not get within ten million light years of them if I could not keep my intentions concealed," he said firmly. "You know I would do John Sheppard no harm, if first I had healed him? I cannot promise there will not be an element of danger involved in the plan. Such is the danger involved, John Sheppard might not come through this alive. But then... neither may I."

She stared to some corner in the room, thinking on his explanations.

"I truly would have no reason to fabricate such a tale," he prompted her.

Still she considered, clearly indecisive.

He pushed yet more.

"Teyla Emmagan, I must make this request again, that you hurry... no time must be wasted in referring this to Mr. Woolsey. An hour spent in discussions is too long."

"I find I am persuaded," she yielded, sighing. "As much as I value Dr Keller's expertise, I would still like to see John fully well again."

He bowed his head in thanks. "I can only do this for Sheppard this one last time."

She nodded, understanding.

"I promise you, however, in return for the trust that you have placed in me, I shall keep him safe to the best of my endeavour."

She nodded again, appreciative of the vow.

"Although… John, himself has to be persuaded also -"

And she shivered suddenly, as if startled by some movement to her right.

He saw the image in her head. A black silhouette of insect form against a background of grey-almost black that flashed white gold as igniting _pnosso_ powder A giant iratus bug. Wings, antennae, cloak, twitching, tormented by the rain and wind of an approaching storm.

"The one they call Ef Xo," he murmured, gripping the pendant tighter. "The Infinite One."

Others danced and shrieked around her. Bonfires spluttered and spat.

A roar... that was not the roar of thunder...

"They begin again. Get me out of here, Teyla Emmagan!"

-oAo-


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Richard Woolsey saved the file he had been working on and posted it to Chuck ready to be forwarded onto Earth at the next scheduled activation back to the Milky Way. He sighed, admitting to some degree of relief now it was complete – there would be no going back.

Unquestionably, this had been the most difficult compilation in his entire long career. A report on the medical condition of Colonel Sheppard. The fiasco of the infirmary. His letter of resignation as Commander of Atlantis.

The 'buck stops here' if this 'goes belly-up'. And he had meant it. Although… somehow, simply losing his job felt inadequate against the price John Sheppard was now paying for one Richard Woolsey's ineptitude.

At least, with his resignation he would be excluded from any decision concerning… Todd's future.

He had prevented Ronon and Lorne from killing the Wraith and still felt stunned that he had done so. Appalled suddenly, in the heat of the moment, that more bloodshed – and in a place of healing – was seen as the answer to remedy the attack on the Colonel.

He would be the first to admit that he had entered the law profession primarily out of vain ambition and not from some altruistic sense of justice for his fellow man but to protect Todd in those seconds following the stabbing had been an instinctive reaction of a lawyer who had also a great dislike for capital punishment and certainly for anything resembling a… lynching.

And why should so summarily be put to death? Was Todd's position so different simply because he was a Wraith? Especially as he claimed he had come under the influence of this… shadow and was, in consequence, possibly not culpable. Todd needed questioning further but Woolsey, despite intervening on the Wraith's behalf, felt that his own judgement was so severely impaired at this time – he had after all, witnessed first-hand the latest harrowing injury of Colonel Sheppard - that he could not trust himself to be objective. Indeed, he had written in his report that this was true of just about everyone on Atlantis. Todd, therefore, would most probably be left to die in the cell without ever giving his side of events.

But no one was blaming themselves more than Teyla though all had assured her that the attack on John was not her fault. She seemed listless, numb, distracted – quite likely the reactions of the female who did not readily give into tears. He recommended that she see Pat Cornwell – though reluctant to prise her away from her self-appointed vigil with Ronon in the infirmary – and it was in Pat's office where she had recounted that Todd was still trying to contact her, insisting of his innocence. In all probability then, Teyla had the best reasons and credentials to confront Todd and he and Pat had encouraged her to go down to the cells. Though… oceans would have to move before anyone would believe Todd again.

So… his resignation duly handed in, he'd better clear his desk and update his files in readiness for his successor.

And more sadness here. He knew that in view of his age, retirement had been imminent anyhow and he dreamed of that day when he could perhaps put forward his own recommendation for his replacement. And without any doubt in his mind, this would have been John Sheppard.

Aspirations of mortals… how fragile they are…

Seeing the first item of outstanding business on his monthly plan, he stood and headed for the Control Room

"Have you that report?" He'd mentioned this only the day before. Now, it felt like a century ago.

Rodney scarcely looked up from thumping in codes on the keyboard.

"What report would that be?"

For a scientist, Dr. Rodney McKay was sometimes capable of being very obtuse. And this occasion was no exception thought Richard Woolsey. But Rodney straightened, before Woolsey even had an opportunity to reply, and looked over Woolsey's shoulder.

"You walked over here to ask me that?" meaning from his office to the Control Room.

As well as sometimes being obtuse when convenient, he also possessed, at times, a rather offensive manner of talking, which was slightly annoying to say the least. But in these present circumstances he could perhaps be forgiven for being tetchy.

"Well, it's not exactly far, Dr. McKay."

"I mean, to ask about the monthly sanitation report. At a time like this? When Sheppard is on his death bed-"

"And our hope is that's far from the truth-"

"Who is probably on his death bed-"

"Dr Keller's prognosis is hopeful-"

"He's just recovered from being stuck on a pole, and having his chest ripped open," and Rodney was counting off Sheppard's various injuries on his fingers, "has multiple broken bones, burns, suffered smoke inhalation and has been stabbed to boot –I think they are all justifiable cases for me _not_ to be doing sanitation reports, don't you think, hmm, hmmm?"

Richard Woolsey could see his point.

"I apologise. I thought, at times like this, you like to be kept busy-"

"I _am_ busy," said Rodney, setting his face hard, bending over the keyboard, the light reflecting in his face showing a very grim McKay, indeed. Confirming perhaps, that at times of stress, Rodney _did_ feel compelled to lose himself in his work. There was that possibility Woolsey was doing likewise? That he was attempting to push aside all thought of what to do with Todd, by immersing himself in the most mundane of tasks?

Mind you, this wasn't _this_ month's sanitation report Woolsey was chasing, but a long overdue one of last April, four months ago.

"What are you working on?" It was a polite question and really not an unusual one considering that Woolsey was still holding that office of commander and Rodney was his Head of Science. But the look that Rodney threw him had all the suggestion that it wasn't a particularly diplomatic one.

"I'll go... er... I'll be in my office if you need me," said Woolsey hastily, ready to beat a retreat.

Rodney sighed. "I'm working on sanitation as it happens. We've sprung a leak."

"Oh. Why wasn't I notified of this?"

"Because I'm busy," said Rodney sullenly. He tapped his earpiece suddenly, keeping his hand to his ear, straining to hear or concentrate or both. "What?" And then was furiously signalling Woolsey to switch his own device on and listen in.

Woolsey drew back from the noise that hit him.

"What is that?"

"That, is the sound of bulkhead number 2156 failing to be that much of a bulkhead and keeping the sea out. It's where our outflow sanitation pipe meets the big open sea." Rodney began beating the screen with two fingers where he'd pulled up a blueprint of the lower reaches of Atlantis. "Running water. Lots of it. Our leak has just upgraded a notch or two..." An observation followed by shouting down the earpiece in very bored tones to the unfortunate person who had been sent to investigate,

"Update!"

"_It's corrosion!"_ It was Radek, also shouting, attempting to be heard over what seemed to be a veritable waterfall. He sounded cold and wet._ "I am mystified how it has become so very bad, unnoticed since the last inspection!"_

"Never mind the inquest!" Though hadn't Rodney just asked? "I'll set the pumps working. And I'm sending you Harrison's team. Get all the steel and cement you can lay your hands on. Mr. Woolsey is authorising twenty hulky marines to assist-"

"I am? Yes. That's affirmative, Radek!" and he found himself shouting too.

Radek signed off.

"Is this serious?" Woolsey asked Rodney. Was this yet more of their bad luck?

"We could always fly the city to stop from drowning."

Woolsey was taken aback, unable to quite decide if Rodney was being flippant or not. And then remembered their ZPM's were low on power.

"Oh uh." Two rather ominous words uttered by Chuck sitting at a screen behind them. They both turned to him.

"You wanted me to keep you abreast of that weather front?" It had always been protocol, ever since the storm in Elizabeth Weir's time that wherever they were in the galaxy, weather satellites were set up. Chuck leaned back in his chair affording them a clearer view of charts and data flicking across his screen.

"It's grown to a bit of a biggie. Hurricane size. Force 12."

An enormous swirl of cloud lay to the south east of them.

"How did that happen? We were due for light showers only twenty minutes ago!" squealed Rodney.

"It just built up in front of me. Never seen anything like it."

"What's the wave situation now?" demanded Rodney, quickly coming to his senses.

"In half an hour, we're likely to have a swell fifty metres high breaching the piers," apologised Chuck, though it really was not his fault. "But the rate this is going, it could easily be here in five, ten minutes." And he shrugged.

"Crap! Hitting our 'leak' full on!"

"'fraid so."

Rodney turned to Woolsey. "You wanted to know if this is serious? _This_ is serious! Right. Let's get the shield down." And Rodney was tapping at another keyboard, when Teyla came over Woolsey's earpiece.

"_Mr. Woolsey, may I speak with you a moment? It is of the utmost urgency."_

And the lights suddenly dimmed. Blacked out and dimmed again. Staying dim.

And even the Gate lacked something of its usual blue lustre.

"Lightning?" enquired Woolsey, looking upwards, as they all did.

"Must be," agreed Rodney grimly, though no one had seen the any electrical flashes.

"Power fluctuation!" Came Amelia's immediate call from another console. "The problem's at Bulkhead 2156!"

Teyla buzzed Woolsey again.

"Now would not be a good time, Teyla."

"I see it! I see it!" screeched Rodney, looking at his own screen. "Oh, this is so not good!" And Rodney hit his earpiece hard. "Radek! What are you playing at down there?"

Woolsey took this opportunity to speak to Teyla once more.

"You'll have to get back to me later."

"Speak up! I can't hear you above the din!" Rodney.

"_It really cannot wait!"_ Teyla. And she was running. _"Todd and I... believe that there ... attempt... to... on Colonel Sheppard..." _But Rodney was so loud in calling out Radek's name, failing to get any response, that Woolsey only comprehended half of what Teyla was saying. He was soon pointing at Chuck. "Please put both Teyla and Radek on loudspeaker so we can all hear. Hold on, Teyla."

Radek came through then.

"_It's the wiring! I went up another floor to check for more cracks to discover auxiliary cables all over the place. I didn't even know they were live. Schematics do not show anything of importance here. But there is serious water seepage and it's affecting the wiring down to the anchor mechanisms. Atlantis herself has probably followed safety protocol and shut down the area, but there must be a link somewhere in all these additional cables to the main systems. We've just had a power glitch-"_

"I've lost main systems completely! How is that possible? One drop of water?" asked an astonished Rodney.

"_It is Atlantis again. You know how she sometimes overcompensates." _

"I'm trying to get the shield down here! We have a storm approaching."

"_An override-"_

"Am so doing!" said with much eye-rolling. And he worked at his console, muttering under his breath, "as fast as the water leeches in, power is leeching out."

And then stopped, looking up wide-eyed, when the whole room shook.

"That hurricane is with us now, sir!" called out Chuck.

"Damn, damn, damn!" Rodney.

"_Sir? Did you hear me?"_ asked Teyla.

"We're registering a slight list, sir!" Reported Amelia.

Voices were coming at Rodney and Woolsey from all directions.

"_Rodney. It's Jenny. We're on auxiliary emergency power down here. Any chance of a return to normal any time soon? I have two patients on life support."_

Sheppard and the marine, Simmons.

"We are about to encounter a hurricane whilst experiencing some structural damage to lower ballast decks. Rodney will do his best to restore power at the earliest opportunity," Woolsey assured her.

Rodney scoffed, intent on his keyboard but that concern never left his face.

"Override is so not working here," he hummed.

"_Rodney!"_ Radek again. _"I've returned downstairs - it's now holding a metre of water and... as far as I can tell it's rising fast. The pumps don't appear to be working!"_

"The pumps aren't working?" echoed Rodney, looking up pale. "But according to my data, everything's functional"

"_Sir? Sir? Mr Woolsey. Do you copy?"_ came over Teyla.

"One moment, please, Teyla."

"Radek get out of there!" ordered Rodney. "Don't let anyone else in. Get to level three. I'll seal off the area."

"_Sealing off the area may be difficult with only auxiliary power. I rather suspect the wiring is cooked. There is much steam!"_ By the sounds of the hissing, that might have been Czech understatement.

"Nothings responding!" cried out Rodney, frantically tapping in codes, slapping his earpiece. "Harrison! Where are you? Get manual pumps to level three!" And he looked over to Woolsey, his expression bleak. "All we can do is ride this out. I can't get the shield down. We're practically useless. Proverbial sitting ducks in the water."

And they fell silent, a moment, watching the onslaught of rain streaming down the window.

"Is it severe enough to evacuate through the Gate?" pushed Woolsey.

The lighting flashed. The lights dimmed again. The Gate shut down.

Rodney swallowed as all those in the Control Room looked to the circle of empty space.

"I take it, that option is now closed to us…" murmured Woolsey.

"_Are you able to hear me? There appears to be a storm outside? Did we lose power? The corridors are very dim and I find I am unable to use a transporter."_

"Go ahead, Teyla. We've just lost main power, yes," explained Woolsey. Whatever she had to say could not possibly be any worse than this.

"_Todd and I both believe there is to be another attempt on Colonel Sheppard's life."_

And they all stared at one another.

"_It would be advisable to release Todd and permit him once more to restore John back to health and allow him take John away from here."_

They couldn't take that in. Amelia was cutting in with further warnings.

"Dr. McKay! We have an eighteen degree incline!" And the Control Room lurched sickeningly. Woolsey grabbed the rail to steady himself. Rodney, his keyboard.

A siren started. To add to all the cacophony. That died almost instantly. Woolsey had seen chaos like this before. Anger and fighting breaking out in a courtroom, broken only by the judge's gavel – there would be no such cessation of events here.

"_Rodney!"_ Radek again.

"What?"

"_Rodney! It... is... no use... met up with Harrison... he is telling me... cracks have extended up to level three also_." It sounded like Radek was drowning, certainly gasping against whatever flooding he was facing in Atlantis' basements.

"Look! Will people just let me think and stop coming at me from all angles!"

A lighting flash made them all start and the room lurched again.

"_Come in, Mr Woolsey! Can you hear me? What is happening? I have encountered personnel thrown to the floor_, _some of whom require medical attention_," shouted Teyla.

Rodney thumped his forehead. As if that would help clear his thoughts.

"Flood the lower deck ballasts! We need to be able to stabilise!" he threw out to Chuck.

"You're deliberately flooding the lower areas?" queried Woolsey, considering this all a little drastic.

"Yes!"

"_That would... sit... low in the wat... ney_..." joined in Radek, the reception of his radio progressively worsening.

"If you mean we'll sit lower in the water and we'll hit the big bad waves much much harder – yes, it's true but it's a damn sight better than keeling over I think!"

"You believe we would actually capsize?" asked Woolsey. Rodney just looked at him and said nothing.

"Sir! I'm getting warnings… from the anchor point-" Amelia.

"Oh let me guess! We're about to break loose from our moorings!" Rodney shook his head in disbelief. "Radek! Get yourself out of there! It's just not safe! And get Harrison to be ready in level four with the pumps," he instructed. "And then make for power Box 51B. You'll have to carry out a manual override-"

"_Rodney..."_ and Radek's voice sounded clearer._ "You haven't forgotten the new infirmary?" _Also on level four.

"No. No, I haven't forgotten the infirmary!" said Rodney impatiently.

Quietness and then, an ominous creaking noise came over Radek's radio. The lights dimmed further.

"Oh no! Oh no, no!" From Rodney.

"_Out! Out! Everyone out!"_ came Harrison over Radek's radio. _"Level four is now letting water!"_

"Dr Keller! Dr Keller do you read! Evacuate the infirmary!" ordered Woolsey. "She is not responding! I remember that as well as staff she has six other patients besides the Colonel"

"Ronon is down there! Try him!" yelled Rodney.

"Ronon Dex, do you copy?"

"_I hear you. What's up? The lights keep flicking on and off. And the floor's making all these weird noises."_

"Where's Dr Keller?"

"_She's seeing to Simmons. He's just gone into cardiac arrest or something."_

"She must evacuate the infirmary. It's in danger of flooding."

"_Ok. So now we've got water on the floor. "_

"You must evacuate!" put in Rodney. "The transporters are out so you'll have to take the first flight of stairs out of there! We're sending Harrison with marines to assist!"

"Mr Woolsey, sir! I've men on level five in that tower, guarding the brig." Major Lorne had appeared. Of course, Woolsey did not need reminding with Todd there.

"Teyla is in that area too."

"Teyla! Come in, Teyla, do you copy?"

"I'll go," offered Lorne, already moving quickly to the exit, when there was no response. "I take it Todd has to be released too?" he checked out over his shoulder.

Woolsey simply nodded.

"The transporters are down!" Rodney called after him.

"I'm on it!" And two of his men went running off with him.

Woolsey was still gripping the rail as Atlantis shuddered once more. Realisation crept in. And Rodney and Woolsey exchanged glances.

"Appears they are very determined to kill Sheppard. Whoever they are," said Woolsey, amazed at the calm in his voice.

"You believe that?"

"What else can we believe? I am no scientist but even I know this is happening too fast. We are at their mercy – again who ever they are!"

"Don't you think it's a little over the top! Like using a tank to crack a nut! Out of our hands! Not if I can help it! You'll be getting me to admit soon that we can capsize!"

"I think, Dr McKay, that what ever is trying to kill Colonel Sheppard obviously has no qualms about killing us all and destroying Atlantis."

-oAo-

The floor did that lurching thing again and Ronon instinctively reached for the side of Sheppard's bed. Ronon was no medic but he found himself checking every screen and needle and dial, any indication that everything was ok. But there were no warnings, no alarms and Sheppard's breathing seemed as rhythmic as ever under the mask.

This was like Ronon taking six. But different.

He looked over to Jenny, who with three other of her staff worked on Simmons within a halo of bright white light – all the other lamps had turned dim and yellow when the emergency generator had kicked in some ten minutes ago. He'd pulled Sheppard's curtains aside completely then to keep everything in view. Edgy.

Jenny threw a glance of seconds back his way. Even with the situation in front of her, she'd always got an eye out for Sheppard. And then, she cast her eyes across to the other four patients.

Everything was as it should be.

"Hey, Ronon! What's going on, do you think?" called a guy with a broken arm and damaged ribs from one of the beds.

A second patient pulled himself round and sat dangling, swinging his legs over the edge of another bed.

"It has to be a storm, you reckon?"

"Yeah, has to be," Ronon called back, making sure Sheppard was good again, unsure that raised voices might wake him up.

"Everything has to be ok? I mean if nothing was ok, they'd tell us and the sirens would go off, right?"

Everything was as it should be.

Shit, no.

Sheppard shouldn't even be like this. Relying on damn machines to help him through each hour. And they'd stopped Ronon from killing Todd. But Todd hadn't been responsible for all the rest of those injuries.

The floor shuddered again. With a sort of a loud flop. And a bang seemed to come from the wall behind him. He held onto the bed a second time, concerned that the bed might start to shift, even though the wheel brakes were clipped down. And he leaned right across the bed, across Sheppard, poised to prevent that. And he found himself looking straight into Jenny's eyes and saw fear there. Though only briefly. Followed by a look that asked a question.

And he wanted to know the answer too.

He hated infirmaries. They reminded him too much of Melena. He especially hated infirmaries with that feel of threat outside. Yeah, he hated that. And no one explaining what was going on.

Everything was as normal? Shit, no. Everything was normal except there was some big storm and they were in a windowless room and couldn't look out.

His hand went up to his ear, but his radio activated before he had a chance to reach it.

"_Ronon? Do you copy?"_

Woolsey.

"I hear you. What's up? The lights keep flicking on and off. And the floor's making all these weird noises."

"_Where's Dr. Keller?"_

"She's seeing to Simmons. He's just gone into cardiac arrest or something."

"_She must evacuate the infirmary! It's in danger of flooding!"_

It was then that he saw a skim of water creep across the floor over the far side of the room, coming in from the corridor.

"Oh fuck!" said the marine with the dangling legs as he saw it too and jumped off the bed, grimacing, holding onto his stomach with one hand and his bed with the other. "That is so not right!"

"Ok, so now we've got water on the floor."

"_You must evacuate!"_ yelled Rodney. _"The transporters are out so you'll have to take the first flight of stairs out of there! We're sending Harrison with marines to assist!"_

The room seemed to creak and groan all round. All eyes looked to the walls and ceiling. That noise hitting them worse than the threat of water. The scientist that Ronon thought was called Pauline who'd been asleep, who'd accidentally inhaled gas in the labs, sat up in bed too. Now wide awake. Alarmed. They all were. Jenny included.

The nurse who'd been sent to a store appeared a side door. Ashen and white faced.

Ronon was on his feet. Evacuation? How could they do that with two patients on life support?

"Listen up! We've got to leave here! Now!"

"Ronon?" queried Jenny, reluctant to take her attention away from Simmons, and he nodded over to the water spreading across the floor and she followed his look and immediately understood.

"Ok, guys. Evacuation procedure! Gayle, finish here and go to Colonel Sheppard. Kendall. Break out the lifejackets! And then go with Slezak to help the others. We can handle this." Leaving her with two nurses round Simmons.

She turned to Ronon, now standing in the middle of the infirmary, water washing round his ankles, looking to the entrance. They'd been three steep steps leading up to this room, and engineers had built a ramp over them for ease of access. The corridor beyond was already filled with swirling brown filthy water that stunk of rotted seaweed, and worse, that slapped at walls as it pushed its way forward past the door.

"The transporters are out," he said. And she understood that too. It'd mean manhandling the beds of both Simmons and Sheppard down fifty metres of flooded corridor and up stairs.

"How..." and he looked back to Sheppard.

"We have to take Simmons first. We're still stabilising him. Gayle's going to disconnect everything for John. He'll be fine, honest. We have batteries and emergency tanks for the oxygen. But I need you to help us with Simmons. Ok?" He must have seemed in shock, stunned, for her to talk like that and he snapped out it. She was always practical and was busy even as she spoke. Delegating people where she saw they were most able. Like triage. And he was going to follow her lead.

She was already briskly unplugging the monitors and checking tubes, securing things to the side of Simmons' bed. Throwing over extra blankets, strapping her patient in. The power reduction and the presence of sea water were cutting the temperature so that even Ronon had noticed the drop. The two nurses were jacking up the bed to the highest position to keep their patient dry. All carried out like a practiced drill.

One even joked. "We keep moving like itinerants, don't we? One day we'll find a proper home."

"They're sending marines to help," he said, as he refused the offer of a life jacket from Kendall. The things never seemed to fit him.

"There you go. Sheppard will be ok." And Jenny slipped her own life jacket over her head as she talked. Not inflating it. It was apart of the drill. Not to inflate it until you hit water. It might impede your exit.

Pauline was already being helped by Kendall. And the guy with the bad stomach by Slezak. He'd burst an ulcer or something. Ronon felt bad for not remembering. The marine with the broken arm was now off the ramp and gingerly making his way along the corridor, holding the wall with his good hand, pressing his body flat to the wall when another bang hit Atlantis sending her shuddering again.

Slezak and her patient stumbled. Ronon went to the entrance and helped them up. Their uniform, their green scrubs now stained, dripping with the stinking foul water. And Slezak and her patient were beginning to shiver bad.

"Ronon, we need to move now!" Jenny called firmly back to him, as a nurse made the final prep of tucking the oxygen cylinder and a bag of medical supplies between Simmons' legs. He reluctantly had to let Slezak go, torn who to help first and slopped his way back to Simmons' corner.

By Ronon's reckoning, the water had stopped rising. Perhaps it wouldn't anymore. Just as well with a bed, complete with patient and equipment to manoeuvre and haul through the flood.

At the head of the ramp, he glanced back to Sheppard where the nurse Gayle was both raising the height of Sheppard's bed with a foot and laying an extra blanket across Sheppard's still form.

Ronon hated doing this. Leaving him.

"He'll be ok," reassured Jenny again. And he looked at Jenny and hoped it was true. He nodded, and turning, grunting slightly, he took the weight of the front of Simmons' bed in his hands and steadied the bed towards and down the now slippery slope into the water.

He quickly pushed down thoughts on the way the cold immediately rose up and hit him. His pants of leather offered him some protection. The nurses and Jenny had no such protection. He checked them. One drew in breath but all three were concentrating their efforts on steering the bed down and straightening it again once in the corridor. They seemed more nervous than aware of the cold. Ahead the other five had made progress. Slezak and her patient had nearly reached the stairs.

Once the bed had levelled off again, Ronon swung along the side and offered to push with Jenny while the two nurses went to the front. The sooner they heaved this baby to the bottom of the stairs the sooner they'd get back to Sheppard.

The dampness was soaking into his pants fast. All three nurses were now visibly shivering with cold.

His earpiece buzzed.

"Yeah!" the word surprisingly breathless making him aware just how tense he was. And he wasn't thinking tense straining muscles.

Harrison.

They didn't stop pushing. A swirl on the surface of the water, the feel of the pull of a current told them the water was rising again.

"_How you doing? We're a couple of minutes away on your level."_

"Just get here. We've beds to haul up stairs." The radio clicked off. Yeah. He may have been blunt. But both patients would have to be kept level heaving them upstairs and that'd require a lot of extra hands – damn quickly.

Ronon peered into the gloom of the corridor ahead, iodine yellow from the emergency lighting. The black coldness of the water. Beyond the stairs would be the way that Harrison would be coming. He caught Jenny's look. Two minutes wouldn't be soon enough for either of them.

Back to pushing the bed with renewed energy. When Jenny laid a hand on his arm with a "stop!" And she pushed through to the side of the bed and felt Simmons' wrist, starting to scramble in the bag, pulling out some glass vial and filling up a needle.

"I'm not happy with the way he looks," she explained and injected the drug, calm as ever, though shivering, oblivious to the cold wet that was fast creeping up the bottoms of her uniform. She seemed satisfied then and they pressed on uninterrupted for the last dozen metres, catching up with Slezak and her patient at the bottom of the stairs, where water slapped at the sixth step up.

Still rising then.

Ronon made his way through the water to the front and helped Slezak get the guy to the drier part of the stairs, leaving them both sitting there, exhausted. The marines would help them further. The marine with the broken arm and Pauline were already resting on a higher landing and their nurses came down the flight to help Slezak with hers.

They waited.

No one speaking.

Now and then, the noise of a slight shudder from the walls. The sound of their breathlessness as the cold took even more of a hold. A soft lapping of the water now at waist height.

Ronon grew impatient. Tapped his earpiece.

"Harrison."

Silence.

"Harrison."

More silence.

"McKay!"

"_Ronon! You ok!"_ McKay seemed relieved to hear from him._ "Thank god! We lost radio contact with you! We're picking you up on our monitors. Just stay put!"_

"What's happened to Harrison? We need him to get up these stairs."

And Rodney was speaking fast and loud with his voice cracking up. _"He couldn't get through. The area was flooding too fast. We were able to seal off your area – ha, which is a good thing, if you look at it that way as we've held the water back for you – given you extra time. He's having to go up to level five and come back down. Another five mins tops!"_

"I got that. We have to wait some more," said Jenny, biting her lip for a moment, despite her teeth chattering, looking down at Simmons and back towards the infirmary.

"Sheppard. We can't wait." And Ronon began wading down the corridor.

"Ronon! You'll need help!" shouted out Jenny after him. Torn, though reluctant to leave Simmons. "I think you should wait for the marines."

"You stay. We'll go and collect." A nurse's voice.

"I don't like my nurses taking risks-"

He'd been hit by stunners.

What the fuck.

Stunner?

That knocked his brain out of gear.

The bang that hit his brain was like that. Like a stunner.

Nothing made sense.

Noise, the roar, rush of water hitting metallic walls with full impact, that took out hearing.

Sight that sought to make sense.

Seemed his brain lost his body. Arms and legs flailing, swept down the corridor, carried on a tidal wave of black, black water.

Others too. Taken past him. Tossed round and round.

Slezak. Struggling. Gasping. Unable to inflate her life jacket.

Jenny. Spinning in hers, couldn't grab for anything to hold.

And he couldn't reach for either of them.

The bed of Simmons. Caught in a whirlpool. Vertical. Then, turned upside down.

The medical bag.

Black and cold that took out breath.

The power of the water - strength that held him. That pinned him. That threw him.

Choking, a brain telling him to find his own strength. Or else drown.

There.

Grab it.

The pipes that ran across the ceiling only centimetres away from his head.

But the torrent took them out of his reach.

Cold, black water.

There. Grab it.

The door frame to the infirmary.

And he held on, feeling the numbing pressure across his arms and shoulders that wanted to rip him from his anchor point. Gulping. Air here but fighting against the slaps of water and wet locks against his face.

Struggling to keep those eyes open as the cold weakened, lessened his hold. His white knuckles glistening from the lamps that still shed light. His arms streaked with muck.

He peered through to the infirmary.

Sheppard. Where?

The surge suddenly eased off as quickly as it came. Dropping Ronon by a half metre as the water found its own level. His feet were unable to touch bottom though, and a strong swirl of current still threatened to pull his body into the thickest strongest part mid-corridor.

"Sheppard!"

Voices called back to him from the stairway, calling his own name. And Jenny's. And Slezak's. Voices that came over the surface of the water asking him if he could see Simmons. The voices of the nurses. The marines still hadn't come.

"I'm ok," was all he could say though he doubted they could hear him.

He hadn't the heart to tell them that Slezak's body bobbed and floated face down some twenty metres to his left. That the bed of Simmons had caught at a sideways angle at the turn in the corridor a further twenty metres beyond that.

And there was no sign of Jenny.

Should he go and see if he could rescue Slezak or Simmons? They might be beyond saving. Whereas Sheppard and his nurse?

He made his choice and his attention quickly returned to the infirmary.

The sound of running water sent his glance to the right, where the wall's metal plating had been torn off in one corner, allowing in a dirty brown waterfall through a hole large enough to admit a man. Its rivets sharp and jagged like the teeth, the whole thing like some animal spewing out its guts.

"Stay where you are!" he yelled back to the people at the stairs. This place was just too dangerous. He was no engineer but that plating didn't look like it was going to hold.

"Ronon..." came a weaker voice. Gayle's.

And he hauled himself round the doorframe, feet sliding on the slope, to finally stand in the infirmary where the water came up to his groin. Bits and pieces of equipment and packaging dipped up and down on the surface. Sheets from the beds floated, gently expanding and contracting like some gigantic jellyfish.

"Ronon."

To his left, Gayle. Pinned, slumped down between the wall and Sheppard's bed that he'd been unable to see from the corridor.

Sheppard soaked. Blankets clung tight and wet to his sides. Both bedding and bandages stained. The water, squelching and sucking level at mattress height. Though the height of staining at the walls showed that the water in the room had been much higher.

Ronon waded over using his hands as paddles sending waves slopping to the walls. And he was surprised at the other noise. His heart thumping loud in his ears.

But Sheppard breathed... still, a slight misting to the oxygen mask.

"He's alive. I kept the mask on his face... _somehow,_" said Gayle. Her face. Round. Pale. Smudged brown. Exhausted. Framed by the clumsy orange life jacket. But smiling weakly. "Just like a diver really." She swallowed. "I'm trapped by the bed," she said helplessly.

Time to help out. He grabbed the bed mattress rail and gave it a jerk but nothing gave.

"Equipment..." she explained. Like an apology.

He hauled in a deep breath and his face was in the water in seconds, tugging away the med stuff, wires and tubes that had snagged up at the feet of the bed.

Back upright and shaking the water from his face and hair – that creaking sound again. And both he and Gayle followed the noise across the ceiling and down to that hole in the wall. The metal plating juddered, groaning from renewed strain and pressure of the water behind it. Another couple of rivets spat off, plopping into the water... he didn't finish looking, aware of a new gush of water as fresh cold struck his legs.

"Time to go." He pulled at the bed again. "You're not hurt?" She'd hesitated.

"No," and she shook her head, shivering. Her hair clamped to her forehead. He felt sorry for her.

"Get out of here," he told her. "I'll carry him."

And he was undoing the strap that held Sheppard.

"Can't we wait? He shouldn't be moved."

"No, Can't wait," he glanced back at the torrent of water again, hoping it'd explain. And he was whipping off the blankets - thinking to keep the wet sheet for modesty – it definitely wouldn't be for warmth - wondering how he was going to handle this, but figured that further injuries were going to be the least of Sheppard's worries if that wall gave way.

He gently lifted Sheppard's mask, grateful almost to hear that breathing continue without it, but he paused, not exactly knowing what to do about the air feed tube.

"Let me do that," offered Gayle and she deftly slipped it out of Sheppard's throat and mouth. "You have to be quick now," she warned, also easing the IV tube out of his arm. "He should be ok if you're quick."

He grimaced at the small spread of red blood where the IV tube had been and wished he could believe her. "Now go," he repeated, his voice low, no way reflecting how he was feeling but he just didn't want to yell at her. And she sloshed off towards the door, holding onto the wall for support

He scooped his friend up, clumsily wrapping the sheet round him, cradling him in his arms, aware of the wet stickiness of plaster from the broken hip and leg.

"I'll get him a life jacket," Gayle said, stopping at the door.

"No. No time," he grunted as he waded over to join her.

"He can have mine," she persisted.

"No. No. Just go."

She edged into the corridor and he heard her hiss at the coldness of the deeper water. It'd risen at least another twenty centimetres since he'd been in there. She glanced back.

"He's losing so much body heat," her voice shaky with shock and cold.

It couldn't be helped. Sheppard was deathly pale, sure. Face, dirty with splashes of water and all sort of slumped. Though Ronon was glad he slept through this.

He followed her down the ramp, gently releasing Sheppard into the water, letting Sheppard's unconscious body float, slipping his own body beneath, adjusting his grip to wrap his arms under Sheppard's armpits to hold him by the chest, keeping his chin clear of the water.

Someone called out to them, cheering him on, and it was good to have that support.

He thought he'd be ready for it when it happened - tense enough - muscles taut enough - when the panel finally gave way with a grinding, shrieking noise.

Like the call of a wraith.

But the current swept him off his feet, taking him straight over to the other side of the corridor. He yelled out a curse, powerless to stop Sheppard's body thumping into the opposite wall, his own body slamming right into him.

Together, they were thrown like dead fish, twisting and turning in the maelstrom where the water of the infirmary and the corridor met.

Gayle was pushed further towards the stairway but Ronon couldn't manoeuvre the two of them in that direction however much he strained and fought. The depth of the water meant he couldn't touch bottom. He tried snatching at the overhead pipes again only a half arm's length away, but let go feeling his grip loosening on Sheppard.

The current was going to take them the opposite way to the stairs. Best to allow it. No resistance. Even though he had little idea what lay around the corner. Best to just concentrate on keeping Sheppard's head above water as the current sped them further from the stairs. Though... he didn't know... if his buddy was alive. He could check his face but that was all. Pale still. And his body hung limp in Ronon's arms. He'd just had two or three minutes of rough treatment. Been more of a punch bag than Ronon had intended. And Ronon cursed again that he hadn't been better prepared.

The cold. The cold was getting to him. Though Ronon wore boots, his feet had long since gone numb. He couldn't stop his teeth chattering. If he were feeling the effects of the cold this bad... then Sheppard would, more so – the guy wasn't even wearing scrubs or a gown.

Immediately ahead now, sat Simmons' bed at its crazy angle, still jammed on the corner with only a fraction of foot end protruding above water. And Slezak's body. The bed acting as a dam, accumulating all the flotsam and jetsam of the flood.

Adjusting his grip of Sheppard, he reached for the overhead pipe again, to try and slow down their momentum, so they wouldn't crash into it, letting go and grabbing again, braking, until finally they came to a stop at the bed, grunting hard as he did so. The current was slower here, anyhow, as the water hit the corner, churning around the steel frame of the bed.

He paused. For breath. And to try and fathom how to get himself and Sheppard past the obstacle.

He felt beaten. Defeated and fought back on that. They couldn't stay here. The little air space was dwindling, making it nearly impossible to keep the water clear of Sheppard's face. Ronon was forced to keep a cupped hand over his friend's nose and mouth. The water gurgled and slapped all around. It still stank and the taste of brine was strong on Ronon's lips. The leather of his clothes acted as a drag and made him heavy in the water. Here, was definitely not a good place to be.

And strange echoey sounds travelled along the surface that he couldn't place. Booming. Not voices? He was sure it wasn't voices. Might be voices. Might be help coming.

But then there was a strange whistling noise and pressure on his ears. A gust of wind sent the water rippling and then was gone. Not voices then but the way the pressure was changing in flooded corridors. He couldn't be sure the corridor wouldn't fill up with water completely, or something would give way and they'd find themselves fighting more debris - or and even the open sea.

He manoeuvred himself, turning his back to the bed and hitched Sheppard up so they'd go over the narrow space between the angled bed and wall backwards, feeling, guessing by the knocks at his calves where the submerged part of the bed was, dragging Sheppard through as horizontal as he could manage.

A glance to the right and he saw the ghostly drowned face of Simmons in the murky water, still strapped to the bed, arms gently floating, reaching outwards... This could be Sheppard if he didn't get a move on.

Ronon's right boot was resting on one of the sunken bed legs and he was using that for leverage, for one last determined tug to break free but his foot slipped out from under him – and the two dipped below the surface.

No!

Gulping, choking, spluttering, coming up for air. Panicking. Lost Sheppard... where? Where? Sinking beneath the water again. No! Out again.

Sheppard... buddy... you, ok...? Wet, but Sheppard looked the same as he had done five minutes ago... lifeless. Ronon felt for a pulse at his neck but his fingers were just too numb to trace anything.

He tried wrenching his foot free. A wire, a tube, something held it fast. He struggled. Mad at himself for making this mistake. But his foot seemed to get even more tangled. Whatever effort he made, nothing worked loose – or his feet were so goddamned numb now, he couldn't tell. He could dive down, work at it, cut it loose but that would mean releasing his hold on Sheppard. Or he could wait for help in freezing water.

He was aware now how much he was shaking. A bad sign. He knew that. Ensuring that his hold on Sheppard was tight enough, he groped with fumbling stiff fingers for his earpiece. A long shot that it'd work.

It didn't.

He stilled. Gasping. Blowing away the water at his mouth. If the water rose another couple of centimetres, he was going to drown alongside Sheppard.

He checked on Sheppard again, trying to position himself so that his friend's head tilted back further, making sure his nose was free of the water but noticing the way that the exhale of air made no impression on the water's surface.

His mood fell even lower when he noticed the blood leeching from Sheppard's chest.

-oAo-


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

In one of Atlantis' corridors Teyla Emmagan assisted a man to his feet. An engineer judging by his uniform. The floor of the cell juddered a second time and Todd ash Luyten, steadied himself attempting to keep his own balance, instinctively sniffing the air for danger as he watched her in his mind.

His mind...

Labouring, burdened with its three tasks... to maintain contact with Teyla Emmagan, to dispel the urgency of his own thoughts that they might be too late to save John Sheppard, and to drive away the shadow that sought once more to watch, to wait, to take him...

"Atlantis is breaking up. A storm. They have sent a storm. It is as I said, Teyla Emmagan. They mean to finish this. All of Atlantis is in danger. I must be released!"

"Quiet!" ordered one of the guards.

He had uttered those hurried words of panic aloud? No. He must be stronger than this and he gripped the talisman ever tighter.

Both marines had raised their P90s. Both uneasy by the manner the strange noises emanated from the walls, by the manner that Atlantis shuddered and the manner of the power fluctuations that even dimmed the blue of the bars of his cell. And now, the crazy Wraith was talking to the air? Ah, yes, that would be disconcerting too. And he chuckled, deep in his throat, holding up his hands in mock surrender to their command, experiencing unaccustomed mirth.

The lights flickered again. And the bars to the cell changed from blue to black, devoid of all power.

Fear in the faces of the humans.

Humming from those bars again as power was restored to the cell once more but at a reduced level.

"It appears that your prison is not quite as secure as you believe?" he taunted, touching one of the bars, impervious to the weakened charge.

One tapped his earpiece and looked with some degree of worry to his companion.

"Radio's out. Something must be affecting the transmitter."

"The storm perhaps?" asked Todd ash Luyten sweetly.

"You shut it!"

"You really should let me go."

"This your doing?"

He was, how had he heard Sheppard put it once, 'getting under their skin'?

He shrugged. "I wish I could take the credit. Wraith can do many things, but conjuring up storms, alas, is not one of them. However, I know of those that can. And it is my wish to prevent them. But," and he allowed his impatience full rein, spitting out his anger that had been pent up for far too long, "I cannot do so incarcerated in here!"

Now, now. Calm. As anger would dispel the shield somewhat that kept the Forfallen away from his thoughts.

Teyla appeared at the entrance suddenly, breathless. Even more wide eyed than on that occasion when she sensed the return of the 'shadow'.

"Ah ha, and here comes my release."

"No... no..." And she addressed the two marines. "We have orders to evacuate. The lower levels are flooding. My radio worked only long enough to pick up the warning. There are those in the infirmary that require our assistance!"

'_This is a good trick!' _ he thought.

'_It is not a trick,'_ she firmly relayed back to him. _'I was never able to put your request to Mr. Woolsey. The infirmary is truly in danger of flooding.'_

And he had to confess that his concern for Sheppard quadrupled.

'_But we could use this situation to gain my release nevertheless?'_

"What about him?" One of the guards asked suspiciously. Perhaps they thought it a ruse too?

A banging noise from the corridor caused them all to look to the ceiling. The room darkened and lurched again. All stood unsteady on their feet.

"He has to go with us!" urged Teyla,

"We should leave him," muttered the guard as he tapped at the control panel and the cell door jerkily slid open.

"Move! Quickly!" directed his companion, prodding his weapon forward, beckoning Todd to vacate his cell.

"Quickly, I find is impossible," and he pointedly looked down at the shackles at his feet.

The marine, annoyed with this additional work, cursed and stooped down, feeding in the code to the padlock. He then turned his head to look to the entrance.

As they all did.

Watching, appalled as water crept in from the doorway, silently washing across the floor. Of no more threat than a gentle tide but insidious with warning.

"We must leave now!" yelled Teyla, pulling at Todd ash Luyten's arm, both of them following the two marines already scrambling out the door.

To the left... straight, straight, turning corners, straight on, never free of the water, often slipping, sliding, and grateful for the Teyla's guiding hand. Even one of the marines stumbled and was hoisted up to his feet once more by his fellow. And Teyla… doubly out of breath in her repeated attempts to contact the Control Room.

"Rodney! Thank goodness!... He says stairs 11B! He says to go to those stairs! That Jenny, Ronon and others may be there!"

"And Sheppard?"

"I do not know! The message - I did not hear! - it was unclear! Faint life signs... I did not hear!" He had never before heard her speak, _think_ in such a distressed way. So pleading? As in prayer? An image in his mind of cocoons where humans begged for their lives and for the lives of their loved ones.

The corridors seemed interminable. His breath hurt at his lungs. Perspiration pricked at his back. The shadow billowed, gaining strength and he pushed it back with a perceptible snarl so that Teyla, through all their hurry, glanced back in his direction, anxious for him. They weakened him. He knew that. He knew that, as he lumbered along these corridors, clumsy, without grace, his legs heavy and leaden with the pressure that they exerted on him.

"We're there, ma'am," called back one of the marines, and ahead were a flight of stairs, going high into the tower whilst at their feet, stairs also descended into a pit of black frothing water.

"Jenny!" called Teyla, and the marines were quickly down beside the figure that lay curled on its side, half in and half out of the water. The doctor stirred and moaned at their approach.

He allowed the humans to fuss over her, with their voices of concern and ministrations as the poor unfortunate woman came to her senses.

While... he stared into the depths of the water.

The shadow had suddenly withdrawn.

Why?

"I ... I must have hit my head", and Dr. Keller, obviously stunned by her ordeal, was rubbing a grazed bruise, hardly able to speak words through the chattering of teeth and uncontrollable shivering. The three humans assisted her up the last of the steps and sat her down with her back against a wall. Teyla helped her off with some sort of buoyancy aid and a marine whipped off his jacket to wrap around her shoulders. "Ro-non..." she stuttered out. "Slez... Slez..." and she could say no more, shaking her head in disbelief, her wet hair throwing off trails of filthy water.

"What of Sheppard?" he demanded of her, earning himself a look of reproof from Teyla. True, he had disregarded the doctor's state of shock, but he needed this information. Such sensibilities were extravagant at this particular time.

Dr. Keller simply shook her head again, her eyes finding each of those who surrounded her.

A poignant scene Todd ash Luyten supposed.

"He… he couldn't have possibly survived. Too... too badly injured... and now... this..."

No. Indeed. The shadow had gone. The Forfallen work was done. The water laid quite still and calm. And he wondered why the Forfallen had spared Atlantis. Perhaps... for all what was claimed... there were limits to their powers after all?

Todd ash Luyten returned to his perusal of the water, a hand stroking the pendant. Could he do this? Could he do what was required now?

He became aware of Teyla speaking into her earpiece. "Rodney! Do you copy...? Do you copy? We have found Jenny. She needs medical assistance..." And she looked up to him after she paused, listening to what must have been bad news judging by the expression on her face. "He says... he says there is one faint life sign in the corridor at our end. He says that Ronon, Sheppard, a nurse, Slezak and a marine, Simmons are all unaccounted for. The marines have arrived at the other stairwell but say the water has very nearly reached the ceiling. As our end, but," and she cast her eyes back to their own stairwell, "he says, we are the closest to the last sighting of Ronon and Sheppard... and one of them is immediately round the bend in the corridor."

Only one?

"Right," and both the marines got to their feet, off loading guns, equipment, boots and jacket.

Well...

And Todd ash Luyten began to remove his own coat.

"Where do you think you're doing?" one marine asked.

"There is something about Wraith that you evidently do not know," and he was already down to his under tunic, dropping his coat in a heap where he stood, "give that to her," he instructed, meaning Dr. Keller, as he strolled to the water and began to wade in. "We do not feel the cold, we make excellent swimmers and we have exceptional eyesight. And Teyla Emmagan? Instruct Dr. McKay to request that my ship approaches Atlantis. I shall shortly be requiring transport out of here. "

He would need that superior eyesight. A deep breath and the water surrounded him, inky black. He felt the others splashing behind him, while he pushed effortlessly forward, bubbles escaping from both his nostrils and the slits at his cheeks. He cut through the strong current with ease, knowing it would slow his... companions down, using his hands as well as his eyes to guide him, feeling his way along the surface of the wall. Lamps under the surface of the water gave off nothing but a brown glow.

Suddenly, his hands touched something tubular and metallic than offered him a glint of something in the darkness. And then... a human body. Dead. No life force. No life force for some time. And not Sheppard. Todd ash Luyten's searching fingers told him this face was rounder and clean shaven.

Not important then.

A movement.

And he cleared the surface. Taking in deep breaths in the small space.

Ronon Dex. Fading life force.

Holding Sheppard.

No life force.

Could he do this?

"Leg's trapped," spluttered the Satedan, trembling, his voice scarcely heard over the lapping of the water that threatened to swamp his face. Did he know that it was Todd ash Luyten who had come to his rescue? Would he not have refused all offers of help if he had known?

With this irony and a fresh draw of air, Todd dropped down into the water again, hands soon finding the obstruction. He needed to free Ronon before he could reach Sheppard. The only reason for undertaking this... He tugged and twisted at some rubbery tube, stiff in the cold, that had wound twice and knotted at the Satedan's boot. He cursed that he had no longer possessed a dagger. Ronon Dex. Always carried one. And he reached up to the man's belt, pulled out his knife – though even in his weakened state, Ronon Dex resisted this, as much as a half-dead man could – and he made short work of the tube, resurfacing once more.

The marines had now also arrived, breathless too and visibly shaking with these low temperatures, who without being requested to do so, pulled Ronon Dex through the gap between the bed and the wall, one taking Ronon while the other loaned Todd ash Luyten aid with Sheppard, blue with cold.

Should he tell the human that his Colonel was dead? Ha!

In the passing over of Sheppard's body to the marine, he inadvertently touched the wound at Sheppard's chest. And his mind saw an image of blood on his hand though the water obscured it. Well... well, how did he feel about that? And pushed the thought away. Though soon... soon... he would have to face... no... no failure... not this time...

"I will take Sheppard!" he growled territorially to the marine. He knew he could reach the stairs long before the marine ever could.

"No, you get Simmons!" the human ordered.

Slogot! He was expected to clear up their dead?

"And then there is another!" he retorted. He had seen the body of the nurse too. "Come back for them! Help your friend meanwhile with Ronon Dex. He needs it!" And it was true that the other marine struggled with his load. The marine relented joining his fellow, while Todd, swimming with Sheppard, overtook them both before reaching the steps again many units ahead.

Even for a Wraith, he had spent long enough in the cold water and was sorely gasping when Teyla, and Dr. Keller throwing off the encumbrance of his Wraith coat, hurried forward and helped him haul Sheppard onto the floor.

Space. Todd ash Luyten needed space. And he himself lay on the floor, panting to regain breath and leaning on one elbow in a puddle of water, he watched the two female humans on either side of Sheppard.

"I am afraid-" he began, but Dr. Keller already had her hand at Sheppard's neck, feeling for a pulse. She shook her head.

Teyla on her knees, sat back on her ankles. "No. No. No, please. Not John." Her eyes brimming with tears.

And Dr. Keller was attempting to resuscitate the Colonel, mindless of the sodden mess of water, bandages and plaster. Todd ash Luyten had seen this done amongst humans once before. Puffing their own breath into lifeless lips and pounding on the chest. Her hands were fast becoming bloody with the effort.

"I believe it will be to no avail," he pointed out. "His life force left him many of your minutes ago." Todd ash Luyten crawled forward on his hands and knees to position himself beside John Sheppard also, while Dr. Keller continued to pummel Sheppard's ribcage. A rhythm. Fighting back her own tears.

"I can do this! I can do this! He can't be dead! He can't!"

"Please, please permit me to attempt to restore him." Sympathy? Todd ash Lutyen? If it achieved his ends, then he was sure he could instil the correct amount of sympathy into his voice and eyes. And well, the death of this human would be such a waste. Then... in different circumstances, would he still return the life force?

"What... what are you trying to say?" sniffed Dr. Keller, wiping a sleeve across her face, simply adding streaks of grime and blood to her cheeks in a vain attempt to clear tears. "You can bring him back to life?" Dr. Keller clearly didn't believe him. Her eyes searched his, questioning him. No. This would not be medicine as she knew it.

He turned his head to Teyla.

"Please. And then I need to take him away from here. I have a room of safety already prepared." _'He can defeat the Forfallen once and for all.'_ He kept that thought private in case mention of their name might draw the Forfallen's attention back to Atlantis. "Is my ship close by?"

Teyla nodded, while Dr. Keller shrieked at him. "What are you two guys talking about?"

Teyla, laid her hand on the doctor's. "Please. Jenny... I ask that you trust him." And she reached for Todd ash Luyten's coat, covering the bottom half of Sheppard's body as he explained.

"When Colonel Sheppard and I were held by the genii, I took much of his life force in order to... live, restoring it later, but... I have to confess, I held onto a residual. I had believed I had sufficient to heal his wounds. I am uncertain, however, if I am able to bring him back from the dead. But I will endeavour to try."

Earnest. His honesty. He was sure he had convinced her.

Dr. Keller dropped back, sliding herself across the wet floor, forlornly leaning her head against the wall. "Ok, ok, go... go ahead. There's... nothing more I can do here..." she said numbly.

He let out a low breathy growl concurring with her. And positioning himself even closer to the limp body of John Sheppard, he laid his feeding hand on the Colonel's chest.

"No! You get your hands off him!"

Todd ash Luyten had seen the commotion out of the corner of his eye. Ronon. Now at the top of the stairs throwing off the hands of the marines that helped him, stumbling to all fours in his haste to reach Todd at all costs, crawling in his determination to prevent Todd ash Luyten, convinced as he was that Todd was about to feed.

Todd ash Luyten ignored him as he closed his eyes. Aware though, of Teyla moving round him, of interceding, her voice persuading, soothing the Satedan that he meant well.

Quiet now. As they waited. As he hesitated.

This was strangeness. To give to a human a part of himself. And... this part had been with him for some years now. A wraith could get attached to this... strength, yes, it had been strength. A certain strength that was singular only to John Sheppard. This is why, during that particular adventure, he had been reluctant to return all to Sheppard, retaining a portion and substituting instead that of genii. Deceit? Well, indeed. Then it was John Sheppard's to have back again what was rightfully his. And this had formed something of a bond between the two of them in those intervening years? Little did Sheppard know... or... had he?

But what if this failed?

Doubt. Doubt weakens.

Time to do this.

Noises of the water gurgling. The humans breathing. He blanked them out, drawing in his own breath, filling his lungs, releasing air, remembering that day when Sheppard had lain under the tree, old, well beyond his years.

The tingling in his hands, as _jogul,_ essence, growth, nurturing, organic plasma flowing out from him, radiating, from his groin, from the third vertebrae of his spine and from a point at his forehead, joining as one at the heart... the jolt of a heart beat magnified a hundred fold, intensifying as the surge passed down his arm into the body of the human... he felt it spread as roots, seeking the human's organs, offering them sustenance and warmth one by one, fingering along the surface of the skin, mending, suturing, restructuring bone, massaging through the lungs over the heart, till finally, caressing the cells and fibres of the brain... recharging even thought...

'_I...'_

'_Take it. It is life. Accept it.'_

The whole process had lasted only a human nanosecond and John Sheppard's eyes sprung open – as did his own.

"John!" The look of joy on Teyla Emmagan's face was... moving to behold. Surprise and disbelief on all the human faces. Understandable confusion on John Sheppard's.

"Wha happened?" and he weakly lifted his head and let it fall again, the effort being too onerous for him. Teyla had shifted to his side once more and now positioned herself to cradle his head in her lap. He was thus able to examine the lack of wound at his chest, and see the absence of burns on his left arm, the wreckage of bandages on his right, the water all around, how he was on the floor surrounded by all these people -

And Todd ash Luyten.

"You stabbed me!"

"It was unintentional!"

"But you still stabbed me! But... where...?" Again he attempted to look at wounds that simply were not there. There was so much to comprehend.

"Where are your wounds?" supplied Todd ash Luyten, "I healed you." He was not boasting, simply explaining the facts – in fact, in view that he had just gone as far as saving the Colonel's life, he could even be considered modest.

Ronon, now on the floor, stomach down, by the stairs, snorted and pushed himself as threatening as he could up on his elbows.

"I believe you may experience some weakness for a while... you need rest," and he glanced to Dr. Keller, who had also come to Sheppard's side, to feel for his pulse. "But not here," he added.

"What do you mean?" glared Ronon.

"Yeah, ditto," agreed Sheppard, his voice slurred now, his eyes hazily eyeing up the two marines who now stood shakily to their feet, water dripping from their clothes, who looked intent to restrain Todd ash Luyten yet again.

Oh, this was getting too much! They sought to oppose him? When he had their well-being at heart!

He stood, a little defensively perhaps, while sending a message, a thought to his second-in-command, allowing Teyla to explain to Sheppard.

"You must accompany Todd. He has the solution to the problem of our ill fortune. And it centres on you."

"Now wait-"

"There is no time!" Interrupted Todd ash Luyten, his voice rising as was his impatience. He had no wish to remain here arguing - why could not Sheppard see this? "Once they discover that you are alive, they will act again. Fast."

"Who's... _they_?" And Sheppard struggled to find him in his vision.

The marines moved closer and Ronon staggered upright.

Todd ash Luyten barred their way. A low snarl from his lips.

"Todd! Who's they?" persisted Sheppard from the floor.

Even if Todd ash Luyten had wanted to reply, which he didn't, the Wraith beam prevented him from doing so.

-oAo-

Why so?

They talked of her.

Why so?

They thought to hide in the shadows and talk of her?

Why so?

Ef Xo's predecessor, Lek Xo, lay mangled and rotten somewhere in the windswept marshes. Ef Xo could picture the corpse now, lying in the stagnant stinking mud, where it had landed, kicked, tossed from some mountain ledge. A distance away of two thousand lengths yet Ef Xo's antennae - yes, yes, her antennae, not her imagination - picked up the low sound of the wind, rattling, twisting at one exposed leg, desiccated as the surrounding grasses that had provided its hiding place of eons. The severed skull had blown away, had caught on the branch of a stunted tree and danced in the passing wind, empty eyes looking to the Forfallen moon …

Ef Xo had no conscience regarding the part she had played in Lek Xo's death. No, not so much death, as an execution.

For Lek Xo had failed and had paid the price of failure.

So now why was Ef Xo haunted by this image? At this moment? For she was certain she had never given it a second thought, not since the day she had lanced Lek Xo with her venom, knowing that it was more potent than Lek Xo's own, fed as it were with ambition. It had been Ef Xo's contempt and laughter that had drowned the last dying gurgling curses of Lek Xo.

Why so?

And why were her seconds cowering... cowering?... huddled as if cowering... yes, huddled on the other side of the fire… but not cowering... huddled in… _conspiracy_.

How dare they?

The heat of the fire was nothing to Ef Xo's seething anger and a surge of venom enlarged her abdomen. She felt their unease, their silence and knew that they saw her fury, shining purple and iridescent in her many eyes.

Ef Xo drew her cloak about her. Not defiance. Though she hoped it would appear so. Her anger had drained and ebbed away. She was in need of comfort?

She had failed. But could not say why. The human John Sheppard was dead. And she'd been charitable and permitted all Forfallen, whatever their rank to drink such richness of a contract fulfilled.

But what of the Wraith Queen's soul sent to darkness? Where was the euphoria? The increase of power afforded? Where was control? Dominance? Trochlor lines widened? Corridors to other powers opened? It all should have followed – naturally. As the mud slides after the storm. As darkness after the moon's eclipse. Where was the sweet nectar imbibed at a soul's demise?

And the pool had shown nothing but… blankness. Ef Xo, the others could not activate it. No potions, spells, incantations could open it. It felt like… power reversed, introverted on itself.

The Wraith Todd ash Luyten.

What had he done?

Last seen held captive in the human's prison. Still hoping to save John Sheppard.

Why so? Why would he not give up?

She had seen the pendant cracked. But cracked did not mean broken…

She had failed. Failed to see the possibilities. What had the Wraith done? Charity? Kindness? No. No. Impossible for a Wraith. Impossible for a Wraith towards a human. But indirectly, motivated by preservation of his kind, he had inadvertently shown such emotions.

Nothing good ever comes of goodness, as far as Forfallen were concerned.

What was his aim now? Why was he blocking them? Protection of his Queen?

'_Sisters,'_ she clicked. Yes, she could do benevolence and treat them as equals. Though it would be some time before she could forgive their doubt. And she would always have to watch her back for double-cross. But she felt pleased somewhat at their surprise that she was no longer angry at them. So... her ability to exert fear remained with her? And there were four of them. None had leadership qualities – ultimately she knew this is what was saving her. Next time it would be different. She could not fail again.

'_Sisters, why not join me for jofblamel?' _

Why not be conciliatory and bribe them? Jofblamel was her own cocktail of beverage that she knew was favoured by them. It would delight them and bring her back to favour.

She sensed their hesitation. And this could nearly rekindle her temper. Her wings stirred in an involuntary flutter and settled again. She hoped they saw the threat.

'_Todd ash Luyten has the means to block us'._

Oh, forever pragmatic and to the point, Ka Oh had been chosen to speak for them.

'_This is truth,'_ conceded Ef Xo. And why not pretend she was little bothered?

But the implication of Ka Oh's thoughts were that Ef Xo had been unable to prevent Todd ash Luyten from interfering.

'_What do we do?'_ Ka Oh clicked back from their side of the fire, relieved perhaps that she would not have to take action in Ef Xo's possible demise. But the Second was still concerned.

'_We can do nothing.'_

And Ef Xo chuckled at her own candour and honesty at admitting their limitations.

'_However, I believe that Todd ash Luyten will do everything. We simply have to wait. Come now, sisters,' _and Ef Xo, moved round to their side of the fire, '_I do not perceive this as a drawback. If we have such an adversary as the Wraith then it is well we have found him and can deal with him at these early stages. Yes, we simply have to wait. And I rather think he might have hand to hand combat in mind. How squalid! How low, but expected of his kind. Out with those claws and weapons when the finesse of mind fails!' _

And Ef Xo dragged one claw through the grey sky, imitating attack. An ineffectual attack. And Ga Hi giggled and it was both comforting and fortifying to Ef Xo to hear her Second so.

'_But we will be ready,'_ affirmed Ef Xo. _'We will end his life the next time and the Queen will be ours to finish!' _And Ga Hi chuckled again in agreement.

-oAo-

'_It is never easy for any commander of any base, whether on Earth or in Pegasus, to bid a final farewell to those who have died in the service of that community... It is my regret that these three, Private James Simmons, Nurse Anna Slezak and Lt Colonel John Sheppard, who served us well, each to their own ability, were not afforded the protection they needed and so met their untimely ends... Three individuals, each making their own unique contribution and mark on Atlantis… We will miss them…'_

Richard Woolsey loosened his collar, unzipped his jacket a fraction and swilled round his whisky glass, examining the way the copper coloured liquid clung to the glass. He tipped back his head suddenly, swallowing hard o the mouthful, grimacing at the bite of the liquor. It was not his habit to imbibe. But after the speech at the memorial service of three of his personnel, his nerves did, indeed, demand it.

James Simmons, who had been with them for only three months and who had developed a heart defect during that 'flu outbreak. Nurse Slezak losing her life to save him. True dedication. She had served with both Doctors Keller and Carson and had been highly thought of for her sense of humour. Woolsey hadn't known either Simmons or Slezak. He had relied on personnel files and the opinions of others to write his speech. He'd tried to treat all three as equals. To treat them as individuals, as people and not to summarize their achievements simply by the work that they did. But it couldn't be helped. He knew he had had the most to say about John Sheppard.

And the fate of the Colonel was still uncertain.

Three coffins had been sent through the Gate. But only two bodies. As much as Woolsey hated giving requiems he also hated the lie. He took another swig from the whisky. Had they done enough to protect the Colonel? And were they correct to allow him into the hands of Todd? Alone? But when the call had come from Teyla, he'd had to think fast, in the midst of total confusion. The storm hadn't provided the most conducive of conditions in which to come to a decision. He usually liked to ponder at leisure, to consider all the possibilities - yes, he could liken it to chess.

Hindsight. Regret.

Hindsight seemed to indicate that his decision might be wanting, even if Todd did save Sheppard's life. Did it give Todd the right to take Sheppard away and use him as some sort of tool against... what were their names again...? The whisky was beginning to cloud his mind – well, that _was_ supposed to be the desired effect...

Forfallen.

Both Ronon and Rodney had called Woolsey - what had Ronon called him? Some derogatory term in Satedan that sounded like goat. Perhaps it might _even_ have been goat. Rodney had simply called him stupid. Evidently too upset to come up with anything more creative.

So there it was. Condemned. The guilty man. And when Stargate Command finally caught up with this little escapade of his, this _stupid goat_ was unlikely to find employment at a fast food service station. You do not just go giving away your Colonels. Surely that had been highlighted in some 'how to command' manual somewhere?

He sipped from the glass again. Gazing down from his office to the now empty Gate Room.

One coffin had been filled with some of the debris from the wrecked Atlantis, wrapped in old marine uniforms. A charade that they were forced to go through to convince the Forfallen that Sheppard was indeed dead. And Woolsey chided himself that he should not even be thinking these events – but put that down to the alcohol.

'They need to see our grief,' Teyla had explained.

And Lorne, who had been let in on the secret, had been sent with the funeral cortege, along with Ronon, Jenny, Teyla and the two marines from the brig, in case their thoughts gave them away. The fewer that remained on Atlantis with the knowledge that Sheppard had not died, the better.

And now they hardly dared to breathe for fear the Forfallen might see through the charade and the life of Sheppard would be placed in jeopardy once more. And now they had a new grief, not knowing what was to become of him and this after all the tension of seeing his past injuries.

"I didn't know you liked the hard stuff. Always thought the decanter was for show."

Woolsey turned to see Rodney at the entrance to the office. His voice as gloomy as his face.

"I don't as a rule." And he looked down at his empty glass. "Special occasions." And they could both see the irony in that. "Can I offer you any?"

"No. No. I'm good."

Rodney stood rocking on his feet, hands in his pockets, though Woolsey had seen that he'd already tossed a heap of papers onto his desk. It seemed strange and out of character that Rodney had come empty handed, without a datapad. And his manner almost apologetic. After the screaming outburst of yesterday, certainly more placid and amenable. Woolsey had almost been inclined to send him back to Earth too but he'd been needed for the clean-up operations here on Atlantis.

'_Throwing him out like some Jonah! Based on what? A story about witches casting spells? Hey, this is the twenty-first century!' _

Though not in Pegasus…

Rodney's words had helped little with Woolsey's self-doubt. Well, as Colonel Sheppard had said, when Richard had first arrived, it's lonely at the top and you have to make decisions and stand by them.

He placed his glass back on its cut crystal tray.

"Am I to look at these?"

The papers were brown and water-stained. Obviously another casualty of the flood. They appeared to be a collection of charts and he fingered the edges. Brown, yes. But brown too with age and history.

"Well, you can if you like, but I've sent you a full analysis via mail. I just thought I'd let you know I'd sent it."

Woolsey must have looked puzzled. The whisky was too much for him. He'd had little lunch - A mistake now, he realised.

"They fell out of Todd's coat. He'd lent it to Jenny to wear,' filled in Rodney, for once demonstrating little of his impatience though not without a modicum of condescension. As if, reflected Woolsey, explaining some matter to an elderly relative.

Woolsey opened and fired up his laptop while Rodney wandered over to the windows overlooking the Gate Room and stood there gazing downwards. And possibly, thought Woolsey, staring at empty space but seeing three coffins.

"Apparently," said Rodney, eventually, "according to Teyla, Todd was going to show them to all of us, congregated round Sheppard's bed."

Woolsey entered his access code and his mails came up. He peered at the screen but the words seemed to fuse together. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes and then swept a hand over his receding hairline. This was little short of hopeless.

"I'll read this later. Would you be so kind as to paraphrase?" Anything but admit his incapacity. "Though..." and Woolsey looked around. Walls might have ears. "Is it circumspect to even be discussing this matter?" Out loud? But he hoped they were no longer under close scrutiny.

"Hm?" And Rodney looked round. Face showing the pain of Sheppard's departure.

Woolsey returned his attention back to his laptop, cognisant of his own parallel sympathies.

"This was a mistake, you know?" continued the scientist. "I still think that even after seeing those documents. Not because... not because we can't possibly trust Todd, though those papers," his head inclined to the laptop, "do something to verify Todd's story, but this... this..." his voice broke and he looked back down to the Gate Room floor again, "puts so much... responsibility... burden on... Sheppard. And he's alone... out there... like never before. We might as well be sending him to take out a Hive ship with a nuke."

Woolsey coughed. Pensive. Little used to such a display of emotion. "Yes. indeed. In more favourable circumstances, I would have liked to have considered the matter more before giving Todd the go-ahead." Had committee meetings. Ordered reports and minutes in triplicate. "But isn't this more in the nature of Sheppard's work... character? To be presented with a situation and have to act on his feet? And then abide by that decision? Perhaps now, we can the more appreciate Sheppard's ability."

"Formulate a plan on the spin of a coin. Ye-es..." and Rodney sighed, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "But… I miss him."

"We all do." And would Rodney have called him, what would be the word, sentimental? But Woolsey's mind was playing other words, phrases like 'in our prayers'.

"Yes, well... you wanted that paraphrase?"

Woolsey glanced up at the dramatic change in tone, but Woolsey had come to learn that it was Rodney's way not to dwell – at least, not outwardly.

Rodney came over to the desk and poked absentmindedly at the parchments. The brown ink had run and though the language was meaningless to Woolsey, he knew that some sections would have been rendered indecipherable. They'd been folded into tight eights, the writing bared white at the creases. He imagined they had once formed parts of scrolls, even tied with ribbon.

"How old do you think these are?" he asked Rodney.

"Three thousand years old, give or take a few centuries. We've had them carbon dated."

"Todd clearly had little regard for antiquity then." To fold them and casually place them about his person.

"No." And Rodney shrugged as if he didn't care for items of antiquity either. "Nor rarity, if you like that sort of thing. As yet in the Pegasus, any history is either on Ancient systems or in tales passed down at some rustic bonfire and carved on a cave wall. We scarcely ever come across anything requiring picking up a pen." He sounded condescending again.

"Your paraphrase then."

"A translation. Of some of the Lantean script. There was a disc too. Wraith copy. Todd had written his own notes. I had the linguists look at it but it only confirmed my own interpretation." Rodney had definitely resumed his own fine boasting form. "His understanding of Lantean, _ancient_ Lantean language is not on a par with our own, despite his claims. Your paraphrase? Basically, Todd talked of the fact that a victim of Forfallen is the only one who can defeat the Forfallen. Reversal of psychic power. Something along those lines…" and Rodney twirled a finger as if it was of little importance.

"But things are more specific than that. Todd overlooked some of the small print. There was some guru, a seer by the name of Anarchis, who prophesized that only a true son of Atlantis could destroy the Forfallen. Possibly someone with a natural ATA gene? It's not exactly clear. Someone most like the Lanteans themselves? Someone who has a mind most like the Ancients, capable of ascending? Of meditation. Of using the Trochlor lines. Definitely someone who would be prepared to sacrifice his ascendency to do this. See how Todd has gotten this wrong?" and Rodney turned to the window again. "See how Todd has gotten this wrong?" he repeated dismally staring at the glass before him, returning to his former melancholy mood. "Sheppard isn't like that. And somewhere out there, we've placed Sheppard in Todd's keeping. They've no hope. Sheppard has no hope. And we have no hope of helping him. We've as good as sent him to his death. And he's all alone..."

-oAo-


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen 

Sheppard woke but still sleep held him and it was just too much effort to even open his eyes. Heck, he could sleep forever. What was it? A late night with the guys?

Late night? He wished… huh, no, laid up in the infirmary… no… not even that… then the whole inventory of events came flooding in, and nothing in chronological order. Lying soaked on some corridor floor. Being able to _move _for fuck's sake. The Wraith beam that blinded and took him into unconsciousness. Now that had to be the weirdest thing ever. A wraith throwing him off a ledge. Free falling and trying to grab anything. Absolutely anything. Pain. His career all shot. Todd stabbing him. Todd healing him? Is that what happened? The fire. Pain. 'That has to kill you.' The Wraith Queen. When he'd killed Sumner.

What had _that_ Wraith Queen got to do with anything? Of all his memories of being in Pegasus, why was he remembering that one? Dreaming still...

Well, time to wake up, Johnny boy and get some answers from Todd.

He needed to move as his shoulder ached anyhow, stiff from his hard sleeping place. Jeez, what _was_ he lying on? It smelt like crap, so... it was definitely Wraith then.

And not the floor. Not some prison cell. Teyla wouldn't have said it was ok for him to leave with Todd if it was a prison cell he was heading for. Woolsey wouldn't have Okayed it either. Unless they'd both been tricked. But… why would Todd heal him after he'd stabbed him?

Semi-dark. That his eyes adjusted to. He was sure he was alone. Around him, the usual organic membrane of some Wraith chamber. Like stretched skin. Light reached him, diffused, sallow and yellow, from opaque discs sunk deep in the walls. He swallowed hard against a queasy wave that hit his stomach set off by the room's feel of sliminess. Mist that carried dankness caught at his nostrils, swirled around him and beneath his bed.

Well, more like a trampoline than a bed. More of that stretched skin. Would definitely win any bed makers' industry awards for the most grotesque. As well as the most crick-in-shoulders-inducing. But he'd had worse – like actually waking up with a Wraith cell floor as a mattress.

So… he wasn't a prisoner… but something told him Todd had plans for him and he wondered if he'd have any choice in whether he played a star part in those.

He pulled in some energy from somewhere, managing to turn over, checking out more of his surroundings, finding the unfamiliar ease of moving strange. No restrictive cast. In a way, that had been like prison, trapping him, leaving him confined by his own injuries and body. His last memory before the beam initiated, was lying in a mess of filthy wet bandages. These were all absent now – someone had given him a bed bath then...

He shivered under the one blanket - hive ships always had a sort of chilly humidity - and winced at the thought of the blanket's possible source. Probably taken from some Pegasus village during a Wraith culling raid. Even… and he fingered the simple tunic he was wearing... a hand-me-down of the worse kind… just don't go there… and he massaged his shoulder, hoping to drive away the thought.

He guessed the steel that had been used to reconstruct his right arm and shoulder still sat there, fused in the bone.

He ought to get up, find Todd for those answers. But he felt weak. No. _Really_ weak. He could do with more sleep and closed his eyes. Listen to your body, John. It's saying you're not completely running on full engines.

Todd had healed him. But not quite? Had healed him in a flooded corridor of Atlantis…

What had happened to get from…

And he shivered again, not from lack of heat, but remembering the way that Todd had stabbed him – a sharp hot phantom pain of that second with its heart-stopping shock.

But what had happened to get from _that _to a flooded Atlantis? Was Atlantis ok? Shouldn't he be back there helping out with... whatever, rather than here, helping out Todd?

Where the hell was that Wraith anyhow?

A noise. And he sprung open his eyes, peering into the mist, trying to make sense of the shadows. Did hive ships have the Pegasus equivalent of rats? It sounded like a rat scurrying along the floor. Should he be concerned? It wasn't as if he were in danger? As he understood it, Todd had asked him to come aboard. But hadn't something been said about needing protection? From what?

The noise again.

From the direction of one of those columns. To his left. And getting closer.

He pushed himself up onto one elbow wondering if perhaps he had to dive for cover and quit offering himself as such an obvious target. He looked round. No sign of the door... exit... _bolt hole_. And he flopped back down again. Jeez, what was wrong with him? He was going nowhere.

"Todd?" he asked, squinting. "That you, Todd?" But why would Todd be so damn secretive?

A deep breathy snarl. Wraith alright. But not Todd. A form that showed itself, more in the mist that out of it. On all fours? Crawling. The movement laboured and lumbering and Sheppard squinted again as it came closer, undecided whether this was beast or Wraith. And undecided whether he had to summon the energy to escape this thing.

And then, decided that this thing had even less energy than he did.

"Ok, you wanna tell me who you are?"

It had reached the end of the bed now and was using the edge to haul itself along.

Wraith. Silver hair. Talons. A goddamned Queen.

"They… led me…to believe… that you were dead." Breathing like it had bad case of asthma.

She was level with him now, one hand, the left non-feeding hand, reaching over to him. He instantly drew back to the further side of the bed. Away from her touch. Nothing wrong with his reflexes then…

Her cackle of laughter echoed round the chamber. She got a kick out of – his fear? Yeah, he had to concede he felt a bit of that.

"Well, _they_ were wrong. As you can see," he said, pretty pleased with his little act of defiance. Defiant wasn't how he felt, right then.

Using the bed for leverage, she got herself upright, standing over him, holding onto the wall at the head of the bed for support, swaying, unsteady. She reminded him of some inebriated bag-lady. And that might have been paying her a compliment. He glanced to his other side. Perhaps it was time to make that escape. Though... if she were going to feed she would have done so by now? Perhaps he was too sick to be a tempting enough specimen to feed on - and that thought didn't comfort him much either.

"This is why I also live still." Her tone sad. Forlorn.

"Pity," he said, though her sad logic was lost on him. He couldn't fathom it out. He was starting to question Todd's motive in healing him. Somehow it was connected with this Queen? With keeping her alive? Hell, why did he just get the feeling they'd all been conned again?

She suddenly collapsed on the bed beside him, clearly too exhausted to support her own weight and he edged away some more. She had the Hoffan disease?

"Pity? Hummph. Curses that I didn't seek to kill you myself those years ago. Now I cannot as it gives them victory over me."

He tamped down on the alarm that she _had_ meant to kill him - didn't all Wraith anyhow? And he wondered why she didn't try now. Couldn't because someone or other was going to have some victory? This was starting to make his head hurt. And he looked at her. The way the dull light caught her face. There was something familiar about the features. She was tall for a Wraith and slim. Green in colour. A face that reminded him of his nightmares. Of Colonel Sumner. Of a Wraith caretaker Queen. 'That has to kill you.' Though more wrinkled, more haggard, this Queen could easily pass as that Queen's twin.

Footsteps. Marching and strong.

And, with a swiftness that surprised him, she was on her feet, turning to face whoever approached, with all that defiance and pride Wraith stuff.

"What are you doing here?" demanded an angry Todd. "Did I not say you were to remain in your chambers? Did I not make myself clear?"

A Wraith telling a Queen what to do? Now that was some hold Todd had over her.

"I grow stronger! That disturbs you Todd ash Luyten?" Taunting, provocative. He could see the light glinting in both their eyes. Perhaps they'd get so riled, they'd kill each other and he could be out of here and get rested up on Atlantis.

"Look guys, I need some sleep. Take this some place else, will ya?" And he pretended to close his eyes, though, hell, yes, he'd love the sleep. He suddenly felt even wearier. And wondered if he should sit up now Todd was in the room but really, he hadn't the energy, uncomfortable bed or no. And there was this pillow to consider. Soft and feathery and yeah, cosy, in a sleep inducing kind of cosy way.

He heard Todd's aimed snarl in his direction. The Wraith had got a problem with the two of them intent on getting under his skin.

"See! The human needs his sleep! I was simply concerned. We would not want him to die now would we? You put his chamber next to mine and so I hear every noise. You know that the walls are so very thin," whined the Queen.

"And when did your duties extend to nurse?" he hissed at her. "Now get back to your quarters and you shall be called when needed."

She moved closer to Todd. Sheppard cracked open his eyes a fraction and watched her leave striding past Todd, showing none of her previous weakness – Sheppard had to give her credit for that - pulling up the skirt of her long robe, haughty, regal, graceful even, composed. No one would have thought she'd just crawled in here.

"When needed? When _I_ decide I am needed, Todd ash Luyten. Do not forget that."

"Your chambers are close together so I can protect you both. Do not _you_ forget that!"

There he went, with the protecting thing again.

She snorted, and at a further column, somewhere in the vicinity of a door, she paused, looking back. "I was just curious. Merely curious to see him. Is he worth this trouble? Not even worth the effort to feed upon," she sneered. And with that she left the room.

Todd glared after her, growling and then seemed to remember the real reason why he'd come here, relaxing, turning to Sheppard. A forced smile on his face. It hurt him to be so nice to Sheppard. Then that meant he was angling for something.

"I take it she's grounded – must be a bad queen to get sent to her room."

Todd's face flicked a frown not quite understanding Sheppard's meaning, soon replacing it with that fixed grin – like some skull.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

Yep, definitely angling for something. Todd just couldn't do nice and ever be genuine.

"I'm fine." Which he was, considering the injuries of the past couple of weeks. "I'm touched you asked." Which, he wasn't. No. He definitely wasn't the least bit moved by Todd's concern.

Todd ignored the sarcasm.

"You may be experiencing some weakness. The life force that I held, though bringing you back to life, was insufficient to fully restore you to good health. It is nothing a little Wraith enzyme cannot rectify."

Now... two things there were mind-blowing. Though Todd talked like he was asking for two cartons of milk at a grocery store.

"You did... _what_?"

Sheppard heavily pushed himself up to his elbows and sat.

"I gave you life when you had died."

This was... news to him.

"I thought... you'd just healed me." That's what Todd had said. Perhaps now he was just blowing his own trumpet. Exaggerating. Making himself seem better than he really was. "I didn't know… I remember waking up on the flooded floor…" and the next thing, Todd was standing there, along with everyone else, and the two of them getting beamed up. Nothing made sense. "What happened? Is Atlantis ok? I've got to get back there." He tossed the blanket aside, threw his legs over the side of the bed to stand. Too quick. A rush of blood, sounding like the ocean in his ears, and the room blacked out a second.

Hands suddenly held him tight. Prevented him from falling. Guided him back to the bed. To lying down. To that nice comfy pillow.

"I'm not well," gasped out Sheppard, fighting back nausea again. "But you are so not giving me Wraith enzyme!" Like he could stop Todd in his present condition. But he'd seen what it'd done to Aidan and to Ronon. Addictive.

"You will find its use beneficial if used in moderation." Again that matter-of-fact tone though Todd had understood Sheppard's meaning and concern of addiction completely.

"You are still not going to give me that stuff!" And he pointed a finger at Todd. He just wasn't prepared to be pushed around like this. He was sitting up again even though the move made the room do a dizzying circuit in his eyeballs.

Todd glanced down at his raised hand.

Sheppard did too.

Yeah, as threatening gestures went, it was pretty… ineffectual. If Todd had laughed out loud, he wouldn't exactly have been surprised. He let the hand drop as Todd talked on.

"How will you be able to carry out the tasks required of you, if you do not receive the enzyme?" He said quietly. "It simply completes the healing process that I have started. We do not have the time to wait for your strength to return. We do not have those days. I perhaps have already permitted you to sleep too long."

"Jeez, that's generous," and he fell back down on that nice comfy pillow. "A… task? You brought me back to life? And don't you go thinking I'm going to thank you for that – seem to remember you stabbing me in the first place. Atlantis was flooded. You beamed me here. You've got some explaining to do."

Todd began to pace the room. And it'd be understandable if he didn't know where to start, if Sheppard's own confusion was anything to go by.

"You asked me if the Queen were bad. If by bad, you mean she hired the Forfallen to kill you, then, yes, she is bad."

"Well, it seems _everyone's_ been trying to kill me lately but I don't remember any, what'd you call them, Forfallen? Who are they?" He tried to think of all those missions. All those planets. And nothing rang a bell. Though with this fuzzy head, total recall was a no-no. But he was sure he'd remember anyone out to kill him.

Todd turned away. Face in the shadow.

"They are…" He seemed reluctant to explain. "Forfallen. Like the Wraith, they share a common ancestry, that of the Iratus bugs."

"Oh." Sheppard got the impression that Todd admitting he was descended from some bug had to hurt the Wraith's pride no end. And he grimaced, remembering how much he also hated Iratus bugs.

"They have, however, retained most all of the Iratus genes and are therefore insectoid in appearance." Something stirred suddenly in Sheppard's memory. Silhouettes of Michael's hybrids cast on dank corridor walls. Clicking. Sounds that clamoured in his head, so intense that once he'd thought he was going insane. And the giant Iratus belonging to the Thalmion.

"And for sustenance…" and he paused, "it has some complexity… it is not simply to maintain life, but operates in another dimension, as it were… Unlike us, depending on life force, they require all that is evil in a soul… And the power that they derive from feeding is amplified by millions, millions of millions… and is power to create yet more evil and destruction. They do not use…" again he hesitated, standing still now, barely visible in the swirling mist and semi-darkness, but his hand discernible, lifted almost to his face and examined, front and back, thoughtful, "the hand to feed, but source directly using the mind, facilitating lines of subconscious communication that have been used since the very birth of intelligence in the universe, its derivative utilized even now by the Wraith for telepathy but by the Forfallen as channels to both push and... suck their power. And once they have a foothold in any species, its destruction as it falls into their domain is almost guaranteed. Wraith. Humans. Without exception."

Todd approached the bed, coming into the light. His face melodramatic with his tale. And to be honest, Wraith seemed a whole lot scarier and gorier than these Forfallen. But Todd was clearly concerned about these guys and that had to take some doing.

"You comprehend why they must be… eradicated? Not only for Wraith but for humans also?"

"On a good day, yeah, I might. Though if you'd drop the Christopher Lee speechifying it'd be a whole lot clearer." Todd didn't get it so Sheppard quickly followed up with a question. The explanation to this he might fully understand. The bottom line.

"Where do I fit into all of this? You have the firepower to blast these people? You know where they're located? You know who they are? And you don't need Atlantis but me?" He was guessing and ok, that was more than one question. But he hoped that Todd would keep his answer short and interesting else he might dose right off.

Todd came right to Sheppard's side. The full eye contact thing that made him feel uncomfortable… gut feeling was... Todd was going to ask one heck of a big favour, something that he wasn't going to like asking and something that he knew Sheppard wasn't going to like being asked.

Like killing these Forfallen.

Todd turned and with his hands clasped behind his back, he began pacing the room again – to avoid directly looking at Sheppard - here he was a-laying on this bed, not exactly instilling the Wraith with any sort of confidence that he was the right guy for the job.

Todd sort of coughed before he started speaking. "We thought we had destroyed them so many centuries ago. As did the Lanteans that lived at that time. The ultimate firepower, your equivalent of... nukes, I believe you call them, was launched against them. Indeed, they and their home worlds were annihilated. But stories, legends abound that their… 'essence' survived them. Small beginnings. A colony here and there. One soul fed upon by one Forfallen, kindling, sparking, igniting the means for others to live and escape the Trochlor lines where they must have laid dormant – that was the theory. Others followed that succeeded in killing the three dimensional form of the Forfallen but they never truly die… There are always those, human and Wraith alike, misguided, motivated by greed and vengeance that always seek their help… that feed them with their weakness…" He trailed off, seeming to huddle in some dark corner.

"That queen," offered Sheppard, filling in the gap.

"Yes. This queen. You killed her sister."

"I figured that one out," and Sheppard, drawing up his blanket, remembering Colonel Sumner for the second time in the space of only half an hour, and it wasn't exactly a warming memory.

"She approached the Forfallen and asked them to… deal with you."

"Regular hit men, huh?"

Todd nodded. "I believe that they engineered a slow revenge for you."

"So this is the explanation behind everything that's happened to me?" And, he supposed, probably to the whole team. "And Rodney's citrus allergy attack, Ronon's gunshot, Teyla's poisoning? Payback time."

"These too, occurred? I did not know. Then possibly, yes."

And she was in the neighbouring chamber? Sheppard looked to the membrane wall wondering just how much of a barrier that was against a would-be killer.

Todd followed his glance. "A Wraith Queen – she would have been a supreme trophy for the Forfallen. Their powers would have been greatly magnified by hers. I couldn't permit this foothold, this breach into our domain."

Sheppard wanted to say, my heart bleeds for you, but he held back.

Somewhere, Todd was going to get to the point where Sheppard was involved in his plan and he guessed he ought to be taking things more seriously.

Todd began to pace the room yet again – it was starting to get dizzying, but Sheppard guessed it was helping the Wraith to concentrate. He watched and listened from his place on the bed, content not to interrupt him.

"I devised a means to eavesdrop on their activities, using the Wraith mind sharing, _aiolac."_ Sheppard had never known it was called that. "It was difficult. They have shut me out on numerous occasions and have even made attempts on my own life." It wasn't bragging. Todd was saying this in such a deprecating way, Sheppard couldn't do anything but believe him.

"I have developed this to such a degree, I find I am able to effect a shield around you and the Queen, to protect you both from their influence-"

"Except once," Sheppard corrected him, remembering again getting stabbed. Yeah, he was going to keep bringing that one up.

Todd, held his head to one side, looking through those long silver trellises of his, and the guy looked genuinely hurt that he had failed on that one time.

"Yes, with that one exception," he said slowly, a slight hissing in his voice. And he straightened and turned again. "It was regrettable-"

"Tell me about it-"

"They tricked me-"

"And how can I be sure that you not tricking me now?-" And Sheppard sat up, rubbing at that aching shoulder again.

"You can't!" His voice had gone up a notch. Impatient with Sheppard. Showing temper even. And Sheppard suddenly stopped with the rubbing, surprised at the Wraith's outburst. "But it is the point of this story that you understand and perceive that I am not 'tricking' you! If you will let me finish-"

"I don't see-"

"I need you, human! That is what you must see!" The Wraith was nearly boiling over with the frustration. And with that admittance. It had to be tough spitting that one out. Nearly like Rodney. Rodney sometimes hated admitting he needed help.

Then Todd looked back at him, eyes glinting picking up what little light there was, generating such an intensity, that Sheppard just couldn't doubt his sincerity.

"How?" Yeah, how? He eased his legs over the edge of the bed. Weary and aching. How was he going to help anyone? Not for a couple of days. He hadn't the strength of a new born.

"It must be you that kills them."

"Must? I have no choice?"

"No. No. No. Why do you misunderstand me so? There is only one being that can destroy them. There is no alternative. Only you. The legend is… that solely the intended victim can kill Forfallen. It reverses the… call it psychic power. I have sought you out, tried to protect you, brought you back to life-"

And that reminded him...

"What happened? On Atlantis?"

"There were able to send a storm against her, weakening the walls that kept out the sea. And you, both bled to death and drowned – I could not say which."

"A little OTT? They really meant to finish me," and he bit his lip.

"Their powers have the potential to be… very dangerous. They believe they have… killed you finally and Atlantis is now left alone. The Queen told you this. But we can use this to our advantage."

"Sounds like you have a plan. But I can't see how I can help, not right now." Not while he felt like a spent bullet.

"The enzyme…"

"You still gonna keep on insisting on that, aren't you?"

Todd disregarded him.

"They believe you are dead. They will not be expecting you to turn up and kill them. However, they are fully aware of your outward looks." Todd turned his back to him and changed the direction of his pacing. Again, as if he knew Sheppard wasn't going to like what he was going to say next. "To be convincing, we must change your appearance-"

"I can wear a disguise, sure." If he agreed to do this.

"No. You do not understand. They will see through a mere change of clothing. They see, read minds at great distances. It is only I, by holding a screen in front of you, that prevents them now from hearing this very conversation. I cannot rely on maintaining this level of protection… not in close proximity. You must be changed. Completely. Utterly. Not simply your clothing – but your appearance… your identity… your _mind."_

He stared at Sheppard long and hard.

And the penny dropped.

Sheppard swallowed. "Those are some pretty tough terms and conditions you want me to sign up for." On top of the enzyme. Where was a lawyer when you needed one?

"I am not compelling you-"

"But there's no alternative-"

"Not unless you wish to die, and put all those around you, including all of Pegasus in jeopardy."

Sheppard pulled a face. "No pressure, then… Ok. Let me have more of the 'how'."

"I have a scientist on board, who trained with the Wraith you called Michael-"

"Why am I not going to like the sound of this?"

"He is an expert in genetics and he has the knowledge to change your physical appearance – not unlike the time that Teyla Emmagan underwent surgery to become a Wraith Queen."

"Definitely don't like the sound of this. And it's temporary like that time? Totally reversible?"

Todd seemed taken aback at the question. "Yes." And that didn't seem all that convincing.

Once more, with the pacing. "This is going to be dangerous. Do not ever doubt that…" and stopped to look at Sheppard to make sure he caught his drift.

"You mean…" damn, "You mean I might not need it to be reversible because there might not be any... coming back?"

Todd gave a quick shake of his head. No words but he looked at Sheppard with those yellow snake eyes with actual real live sympathy. "It will be perilous for the two of us." That was one heck of a summary.

"You going too? How we going to get close? You said they read minds."

"The Forfallen and I have had numerous… "conversations". I am a thorn in their side. I believe they will welcome the opportunity to kill me, or to take control of me. I am anticipating that they will be expecting me. My ruse is that I seek their services as did the Queen. Once there, I can maintain the shield around the two of us. They allowed her one escort. You will go as mine."

"You're the bait, huh?"

And Sheppard's head was racing now with plans.

"How many are we talking of?"

"Five."

"Only five?" Wreaking that much havoc? "They'll check us for weapons."

"It is to be taken care of. You need not concern yourself."

"We're going to use one of those sonic weapons you used on the Daedalus?" You had to admire them. Sheppard wouldn't mind getting his hands on one of those. Though Rodney had said they had to be set on the right frequency and he guessed it'd be difficult to find the Forfallen's.

"I said it is to be taken care of." His tone had gone icy cold. None of Sheppard's business then.

"A Wraith secret, huh? I'm not to know the details but I'm to trust you?"

Todd left the question unanswered.

Damn. How could he be sure that Todd wasn't pulling a fast one? But those last two times, when Todd had done that emergency landing with the hive ship in the sea and had saved their lives... when he'd given the info that helped save Earth… And now Todd was trying to arrange this Alliance. How could Sheppard doubt Todd? They'd repaid the Wraith in both instances with his freedom but there was still the taking of the Daedalus to atone for... though that was nearly history... Had the debt been settled? Had the point come when Todd, a _wraith,_ could be trusted?

Todd had walked into the shadows and Sheppard could make out his gravely breathing. He strained to see into the darkness, pretty positive that the Wraith leant heavy on one of the columns. Tired. Exhausted. And the two of them, neither in peak physical condition, were about to go after these Forfallen?

"You have not asked the question how we disguise your mind," Todd said at length.

Sheppard hadn't. He put down the Todd's choice of words as Todd melodrama. As, how _do_ you disguise a mind? Ok. Hypnosis. Wraith mind control...

Shit…

"Surprise me."

"The Queen who was here formerly. She will use mind control. She has her own reasons for doing this. The Forfallen attacked her also. Even though she hired them, she now wishes to be rid of them, to revert back to her former self. They have sucked all authority from her. She will give you instructions and you will assume a new identity. Except as flesh, blood and bones, John Sheppard will effectively be no more."

Shit. No surprise. But he felt his chest tighten. Wraith mind control. The pain of that before he even got anywhere near these Forfallen.

"The one who's been trying to kill me? It has to be her?" Not that it made any difference. The thought of handing himself over to _any_ Wraith Queen to tell him whatever, was sort of doing funny things in his stomach.

"I protect her. I told you this. Keep her enshrouded in a shield. If I transferred the shielding now to any other Queen this would arouse suspicion. I would do this myself but it… requires too much effort on my part… you have little notion of the energy that is required to protect the two of you…"

Words uttered from the darkness. Again deprecating. And Sheppard couldn't be sure of his feelings towards Todd right then. Admired the guy? Sheppard was forced to concede there was some of that there. He'd already seen Todd weakening twice now since he'd come into the room and that had to be down to that 'protection'.

But another side of him just wanted to pinch himself and wake up and dream something a whole lot nicer.

And Wraithless.

"Crap, Todd... You really are a means-justifies-the-ends kinda of guy."

Todd came into the light again. Spectral. Mists swirling around his coat.

"We need this to start immediately. You have rested enough," he said with more than a hint of impatience. A hint of that old Todd who meant to get his own way.

"Hang up a minute. I haven't exactly said yes as yet."

"Why would you say no?" The Wraith seemed genuinely surprised.

Why would he? Because deep down, he still couldn't trust Todd?

"What if I'm wrong to believe any of this? We've made wrong decisions on Atlantis. Wrong choices. Jumped the wrong way. You're saying these Forfallen have been making us do these things? Setting us up for a fall?" Literally. "How do I know it's not them now getting me to trust you? You telling me you're the only sane thing that's been going on here? I need... I need more time to think this out."

He really didn't like to be pushed into this quite so fast.

"I've told you, we have no time."

"Jeez Todd... but you going to turn me into… into a Wraith follower?"

"I have explained that you do this for all of Pegasus. I thought you would welcome the opportunity to play the hero." Todd's dryness hadn't gone unnoticed. And yes, Sheppard had sounded a little like he was all too keen to save his own skin.

"It all seems plausible. Possibly too plausible," he sighed," but what is it with you, though, that I'm always looking for an ulterior motive? I mean you, thinking of the well-being of Pegasus? Dealing with you is always like playing Russian roulette with five chambers loaded."

"Teyla Emmagan is convinced. And she has persuaded Richard Woolsey."

Two of the best affidavits if ever there were any.

"Yeah. I know." Quietly. Because suddenly he missed those guys. Wanted them here guiding him. Wondered what they were making of all of this. And guessed, those feelings came about as he was just too damned tired after all.

"What would be my motive?" asked Todd. "True, I do this for Wraith. Miakis. This you do not know of Wraith. Sacrifice for the good of all. And I ask you to do this, miakis for your kind also. "

Sheppard hadn't expected him to say that. A philosophy. He assumed that all Wraith were simply driven by the need to feed, to claim territory, to obey and command without question. Yeah, he could understand miakis.

"We'd be partners, huh?"

"Partners. Yes. yes. Partners." Grateful for the life-raft.

"Just get on with it," said Sheppard finally, closing his eyes, nestling down into his pillow, all out of arguments. He could respect Todd's plan, the reason behind it all, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

-oAo-


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

A dream. A nightmare. The pain and agony of being impaled on a stake. The Unseeing Face. That changed. Replaced by that of McAdam. Eyes pleading with him. Finish me. A dagger in Sheppard's hands. Hesitant. McAdam screamed, and Sheppard dropped the dagger, to use his hand to suck all life out of the marine. Him. Sheppard. With his bare hand took the life of McAdam. The marine fell to the ground. And Sheppard's hand dripped with the marine's blood. 'That oughta kill ya.' He didn't care. But it was wrong. He did care. The dream was wrong. McAdam had fallen but it was Sheppard's own chest that bled... no...

He woke.

A second to adjust to reality. Surreal though that reality was. Two Wraith were in the chamber now. In the mist. Todd. And Todd's medicine man he guessed. Wraith always had the leering look of some mad dog with x ray vision, as if eying up your bones to gnaw. This Wraith was worse than some. And Sheppard was going to let this guy do cosmetic surgery on him? Yeah. At the earliest opportunity Sheppard had got to go and see that shrink and have that heart to heart.

"The Wraith I was referring to earlier," explained Todd, nodding, apparently anxious that Sheppard, after his forty winks, hadn't forgotten anything.

His heart sank as the Wraith pushed forward some sort of clumsy trolley, clad over-heavily in leather, reminding him of an old doctor's bag. Like one Dr. Jekyll might own. His box of tricks.

Todd couldn't mean him any harm? If Todd had meant him any harm, he could simply feed on him? Put him in a cocoon?

Or he was going to torture him? That could happen? But there were other means, _other simpler means_ of going about that too. Wasn't there?

But this Wraith, Jekyll, had been one of Michael's assistants? But if they were going to experiment on him, it just wouldn't need that fancy story of saving the Universe, would it?

Though Sheppard had no idea how they were going to set about this. Thoughts of the infirmary. Hospital as a child. The best private medical care his father could afford. When he was told, blow by blow what exactly was going to happen. To set his mind at ease. He guessed he was going to get none of that here.

Sheppard attempted to sit himself up which still proved hard work for him, shuffling onto his side, leaning on one elbow – more to get a look at that box than anything. Jekyll laid a hand on his shoulder. Oddly gently, but not all that reassuring.

"Remain where you are. I require you to be lying down," he instructed.

Sheppard slumped down. Still trying his damn hardest to get a peek at where Jekyll's hands were working deep inside that box.

"You're going to change my face," and he felt his cheeks. A good day's beard. You'd think that would be enough of a disguise. "Do I get any requests? More handsome?"

Todd snorted and Sheppard glanced his way where he stood leaning on one of the room's pillars. He noticed again how weary Todd looked. Nothing was exactly instilling him with confidence here.

A movement from Jekyll.

The smell hit him before the pad of cloth actually clamped on his mouth and nose.

Chloroform?-

His own hands instinctively went up to pull Jekyll's away.

Nothing there to pull with...

No strength. Hands slipping away. Tears that hurt. Breath that bled his surrender.

Todd's face. Nodding. Merging with the mists.

Nothingness.

-oAo-

"Beer, Rodney?" Teyla came up behind him and leant on the balcony rail beside him, breathing in the cool late evening air, apparently appreciative of the millions of twinkling little lights of the city. Well, it was a girl's thing to do.

Rodney glanced down at the half-empty can, gripped between two hands, as if he'd forgotten it was there. It had been some minutes ago since he'd last taken a sip. An hour since he'd started it. It'd probably gone flat by now – and warm in his hands.

"Yeah, well, drowning my sorrows, you know." Clichéd, but it felt very true. He'd come away from all the business of the lab, where he couldn't think, couldn't concentrate. No matter what that brain of his turned over, everything came back to Sheppard. And he wasn't supposed to even be thinking of Sheppard, now, was he? So he'd come here in a rare quiet moment – what? To get drunk? To numb the grey cells? So he couldn't think of Sheppard anymore? Well, that idea had failed. Some genius he was.

"It will be... ok, Rodney," and her eyes scanned the towers, and sparkled, catching all those twinkly lights. Even with the shadows cast, Rodney could make that out.

"Are you allowed to, um... say... ok?" Rodney hissed back with what he hoped would pass for a whisper and one that the Forfallen couldn't pick up. "I mean, being optimistic aren't you? Are we even allowed to be optimistic? After…" and he cleared his throat, "so soon after Sheppard's… 'death.' "

They were still trying to keep up this performance.

And he couldn't help it. He couldn't help glancing behind him. Through the open glass door. To the corridor beyond. As if _they_ were there.

And that was stupid.

"Ok, I can't believe I just did that!" he said out loud. And took another slurp of his beer. Warm and flat. And pulled a face at that. A face that ought to convince the hardest of cynics that he truly was screwed up with mourning for a friend.

Teyla glanced back too and allowed a slight smile at his checking the area out, but how can you stop something like a long range mind scan?- if those things really existed – and he still couldn't decide.

"They are truly fearsome creatures," she agreed, sympathetic.

"Fearsome?" Teyla, for the most part, could speak half-decent Milky Way English and then there were those times when words came out that were pure Fairy Tale as it is spoken.

Teyla playfully punched his arm. And with Teyla behind the punch, that hurt a little. He tried not to show the wince.

"You understand my meaning, Rodney. I have seen them. Yes. Fearsome," she said, nodding with all of Teyla's usual earnestness. You could never laugh at Teyla, despite all her quaint turn of phrases.

"Then how can you be so sure everything will be ok?"

"Because I cannot believe it _won't_ be ok."

"Because you'd go crazy otherwise?" Yes, he could empathise with that. He'd just spent the whole day going crazy. Not knowing what was going on with Sheppard.

"Yes. I would go crazy."

"And no reason other than that? No other redeeming features in this situation? You haven't sensed that, you know, he could have already have saved the day?"

And then with a loud voice, very theatrical, for _their_ benefit, in case _they_ were listening, though… he just had to be sceptical how Forfallen could ever do that, across vast distances. "This is theoretical, of course. Because how could any one who is dead possibly save the day? I really do wish I'd been able to go to Sheppard's funeral." More of the play-acting. "But I was so busy clearing up the fearsome mess made by those _fearsome_ Forfallen." He'd always found a little praise pleased those who planned omnipotence.

"Yes, _theoretically_," and Teyla dipped her head, looking at him sideways in agreement, "if John had lived, we could have rested more easy. We would not have found the necessity to constantly check over our shoulders, for he could have defeated them. But there are those like him, who surely will defeat them yet. So yes. I remain optimistic. Though... I miss him."

Which was a nice ending to her charade.

"Yeah, ditto." And Rodney toyed with the can in his hands, swishing round the last of the contents, wondering idly about centrifugal force and how soon some would spill over onto his hands, when some did. He never got that quite right. Taking things to the edge.

"You haven't said..." and he knew it wasn't real, but how he was feeling right now, it might as well be real. "How the funeral went."

Ronon hadn't returned with Teyla. With his low opinion of Todd, they believed it best he stayed away. And Rodney hadn't asked Teyla. He didn't particularly like funerals real or fake.

"Moving. Touching. Though very... _military._" She chose the word with care.

His cap on the coffin. The flag. Those had been real enough memories, images that kept going through Rodney's head.

God, please, don't ever let it be truly, really… for real.

"Everything was in its place," continued Teyla. "Carried out with such… procedure. They fired guns over the grave. A salute they called it. Though I am uncertain of the place of guns at a funeral, however. I met John's brother. There is something of John in him. Tall in nature as well as stature. Independent of spirit. Perhaps a little stubborn."

"He lives on, huh?" And Rodney realised the double meaning of his words.

And Teyla reached over with her left hand and grasped his right.

"Yes, Rodney. He lives on. Always believe that."

-oAo-

Sheppard woke again. Skin prickly and sticky with cold sweat. Trembling. Seizing the blanket and drawing it up close round his neck and shoulders. The smell of the drug that had knocked him out, close and suffocating in the enclosed space round his face so he immediately threw the blanket off again. Body confused. Was he cold? Or hot? His head drummed, throbbed. And suddenly, he lent over the side of the bed, retching, his empty stomach producing nothing but a dribble of bile. He wiped a hand across his mouth, rolling over to his back again to stare to the blackness.

What had they done to him?

His still shaky fingers felt his face. Swollen. Sore. Stretched. Flushed and red. A whole list of adjectives that was just not nice. He felt round his nose. Mouth. Chin. Cheeks. All enlarged. Bloated. They'd given him the full botched cosmetic surgery job then? Injected him with something? There were no signs of cuts.

Though the beard remained.

He wondered if he'd be glad of a mirror. Or would he rather not know...?

He lifted his right hand, aware of the same raw soreness of his face along the length of his arm. And winced at the pain and stiffness when he moved. He frowned at some wide oily black strap that had been tied at his wrist that had all the appearance of a piece of kelp - and he sniffed – nearly confirming it – the strapping smelt as bad as rotted seaweed, and he fought back another wave of nausea. It was a Wraith dressing? And he had gangrene? How long had he been out? Todd had said they had to do this quickly. Couldn't have been long. Just long enough to butcher him...

The light was poor but he could see dried blood edging the sleeve of his tunic. He peeked under, making out the dark shadow of bruising that spread up his lower arm and he hastily rolled up his sleeve. Another strap at his elbow.

There had to be wounds there judging by the pain but his shaky ice-cold fingers, his hazy eyesight just couldn't manage the simple task of pulling at the strap at his wrist. They'd inserted the Wraith equivalent of an IV tube into his arm? Felt more like surgery. They'd removed some his metalwork? Why? He tugged at the strap more determined now to get answers and made out, despite his fuzzy vision, ugly black stitches.

Yeah. He'd been butchered.

He dropped his arm and slumped back into himself. No energy. They said he was to be given the Wraith enzyme. He nearly wished he could have some of that right now. In liquid form preferably, he was that thirsty.

"Water?"

He started. Jekyll. With a tumbler. Now that was creepy. He hadn't noticed he wasn't alone.

He tried to raise his himself to accept the offered drink but just couldn't muster the strength. And unashamedly didn't hold back with the moan. Forfallen hadn't killed him. Nor had Jekyll with that chloroform stuff. But his headache just might. Jekyll had to help him, sliding a hand beneath his head.

Now that was weird to be touched like that but he was just so glad of the water – and it was water – he was sure it _was_ water. Not some Wraith stuff. Or something else to knock him out. And he drank thirstily, draining the whole tumbler, handing it back for another helping.

"No more, you may feel sick."

"Tell me about it," he rasped out as another wave of nausea made the room loop. Heck, they'd even messed with his vocal chords. His voice sounded deeper and had no accent. He rubbed at his neck hating the soreness of his skin there and the pain cutting all the way down his throat that hadn't been eased by the water.

His dog tags were missing.

When he'd been sure they'd been there earlier. And that brought it home to him, what exactly he might be letting himself in for.

Resigned, exhausted, he closed his eyes. Best not to do that. Jekyll might come and surprise him again. Got to keep his eyes on them. How his arm was feeling, the stupid thought came to him they might be dissecting him for spare parts.

He blinked. Todd there again. How did he get there? These guys move about so quietly, like the B movie special effects spooky mist around them. Had he dosed off again? Heck, he was out of shape and Todd expected him to save the Universe...

And... the Queen, who Todd was trying to hold back by standing firmly in front of her. The Queen's face full of anticipation, like a kid waiting for a prank to play off. She couldn't wait to get her hands on him then.

He struggled to sit up and this time managed it, despite his stiffness from the cold, pulling round the blanket to instil some warmth into his shivering body, propping his head and shoulders against the wall behind him, trying not to mind too much the sensation of gluckiness seeping through his tunic off its surface. The fact he was violently trembling and that he sought to control that sort of took over in precedence.

Todd, held his head to one side, like examining his handiwork.

"He is cold," he observed, with just a faint suggestion of surprise in his voice. Almost... no... this was Todd... but almost with concern.

The Queen bobbed, from one side of Todd to the other - in any other situation the sight could have been funny - trying to get a better view of his... suffering.

"Yeah, how about turning up the heating?" agreed Sheppard, through chattering teeth.

"It is not an infection?" frowned Todd, ignoring him, asking the question of Jekyll.

"Oh no. We cannot possibly have him ill, now, could we?" jeered the Queen, jigging about in the background even more, tugging on Todd's coat. "Would spoil all our plans, would it not, Commander?"

He brushed her off with an annoyed flick of his hand.

"He is simply weakened by his past ordeals," was Jekyll's learned opinion. And Sheppard wasn't sure if he found that re-assuring. And kept on shaking.

"An extra blanket then?" he persisted.

"A small dose of the enzyme at this stage might remedy the situation and would serve as a tonic for vigour," suggested Jekyll.

"He can't!" exclaimed the Queen, coming forward to the right hand of his bed, pulling a long train of gathered dress in her arms. "With new strength, he will fight the mind control. It will fail." Her previous teasing had evaporated. She was deadly serious now. A true professional in her field. But a bit of a bitch too. Sheppard was cold but the warmth of dread suddenly glowed somewhere in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of the mind control that was also on Todd's must-do list.

He looked to Todd. To ask if him it were true.

"The enzyme must follow the aiolac," Todd agreed with just a hint of sympathy.

"Don't I get a say?"

"The less resistance, the less pain you will endure," said Todd bluntly.

"Right. I only needed that explaining." Suddenly freezing his butt off seemed the least of his worries.

"Are you prepared, John Sheppard?" and the Queen inched closer to the bed. Flexing her fingers, eager to be getting on with this.

Sheppard looked from the Queen, to Todd, back to the Queen again.

"What? _Now?"_ And suddenly he wasn't very prepared at all. Suddenly it didn't seem like a very good idea at all. To offer himself up as a lamb to the slaughter. And he wanted to ask about his arm surgery-

"I said we have very little time!" said Todd, very ratty and very impatient with that raised voice of his booming, echoing round the chamber.

"I would prefer him to be kneeling. At my feet," complained the Queen, leering over Sheppard, drawing a hand through his hair, snarling a halitosis snarl.

His sense of self-preservation kicked in. That made Sheppard shift back. As far as he was able, pulling up his legs, clutching at the blanket even tighter – now he _really_ could feel the glutinous stuff on the wall.

"Leave him! His position on the bed is sufficient." Todd seemed just as irritated with his Queen. She pouted, deprived of her extra thrill of sadism. It was like watching two rival siblings fighting over a shared toy.

"John Sheppard," his tone lowered, his voice almost kindly, "you were never forced into this."

"No?"

"Indeed, no. I know you have to trust me and my explanation explicitly-"

"No kidding."

"I know that you are riddled by doubt. But there is trust on my part also. I trust your ability to carry out this task against all the odds. Utterly. I know that I could ask no other to do this. Totally. With dedication."

Nice speech. And yeah, he was back in Todd's ball park, even if only kicking tentatively at the touch line.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he said, and eased himself back down the bed. Todd huffed something resembling a sigh. And sat himself down wearily at the edge.

"I'd trust you a whole lot more if you told me why my arm was cut up."

"It is necessary part of the procedure and will soon heal." And Todd simply dismissed it with the slight wave of a hand. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't important. He wanted to get on with another of his speeches.

"Can you trust me if I tell you this. I repeat you are not compelled to do this. And that free will is never going to be taken away from you. The Queen here is going to follow my strictest instructions and I shall remain here to ensure she follows them. Word for word. She is to erase your memory."

Sheppard's stomach tightened again at that.

"But it will be impossible to infill the total lifetime of your new identity. We can input the barest essentials only. Basic details. Some of you will, therefore, remain. It would be impossible to eradicate fully. Your... 'erenos', our Wraith word, that does not directly translate, your 'essence' in life, your 'inherent nature' will inevitably resurface at some point. I hope we can do enough to deceive. The Queen will instruct your mind to adhere to a series of given tasks and you will know that one will follow the other, but the ultimate task, that of killing the Forfallen you will recognise by a certain trigger key word spoken only by me. You will be unaware that this code even exists until I have said it. This way the Forfallen will never see what it is you intend to do until the very second that it needs to be done. But it is that. Seconds only. There are only five Forfallen, but you must be swift in executing all five. Otherwise they will have time to realise our intention and your life will be forfeit because of the failure – they will show you no mercy. Does this help you? Does this assist you in trusting me, John Sheppard, that I have outlined matters thus? This will not work unless you trust me. For any mistrust will rise as an obstacle and will baulk our plans. It cannot be swept aside by mind control – and neither would we necessarily be desirous to do so otherwise too much of John Sheppard will also be erased. The... erenos of John Sheppard is required to carry out this task. It is a fine balance to achieve and maintain."

He listened. Without interrupting. And was reminded of Mission Impossible. If you care to accept the mission, this tape will self-destruct in two minutes... except this was going to be his memory.

"John Sheppard?" prompted Todd.

"This won't be permanent?" they'd said his face wouldn't be a permanent alteration but what about his mind?

"Once you commence your attack on the Forfallen, you will be John Sheppard once more. No one else can do this. The whole ruse is simply to get you close enough."

He nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm ready." And he glanced at that right hand of the Queen, wondering if it were humanly possible to ever be ready for a thing like that.

Todd stood. "He will not need to kneel," he repeated to the Queen, reprimanding her. The Queen looked stung and Sheppard wondered about the wisdom of upsetting the female like that... especially this particular female. It was bad enough having to trust Todd but the Queen too?

"Proceed," ordered Todd.

And Sheppard guessed that was a sign for him to lean forward, and he did so, throwing aside the blanket, resting his hands on his raised knees, trying to relax as much as possible, calming his breathing. Trying not to shake - he was so cold still. Trying to look at some space in the mists. Aware of the coat of Jekyll to his left. Feeling the motion of the Queen's hand to his right coming out of the semi-darkness. The touch of her fingers, scaly and dry. Surprised he was taking this in. He supposed that on those other occasions of being subjected to the aiolac, he'd had other concerns and had never noticed. Though now... though now... this might be his last memory of anything and that fact brought with it a kind of intensity-

The Queen hissed and the pain shot through. Hot. Hot. Hot. No where to turn to escape the heat. Impaled. A spit roast. Head thrown back to escape the knife blade of hot heat that seared down his spine. Spine arced. No way of escape. Clenched teeth to hold his scream. No way to breath. Impaled by a hand. Words crowding in on him. Driving out breath. Driving out thought.

'Do not remember.'

'Do not remember.'

'It's as if you never existed.'

Other words fused. Vision swirled with the words. Images tumbled, spiralled around him. Of towers, of stakes, of his team. Flying. Jets. Jumpers. Deserts. Mountains. Sea... father, family... childhood friends... his life... his life falling from him... his thought to snatch them, to claw at them... like at the surface of water… drowning... clutching at nothing... no substance... no viable hold...

'Trust me,' says Todd. 'Trust me to strip away everything that you hold dear.'

Breath was there but he could not take it or let in more.

More, more of the pain.

'Do not remember' words. Images he couldn't decipher. Words that made little sense. Words as down some gigantic whirlpool... nothing, nothing but excruciating pain.

His own hands... his own hands wanted to... want to... grab at her hair... pull on her shoulders... pull her down with him... stop... stop... please stop... please stop the pain...

'This has to kill you.'

...a memory there... catch it quick... lost his hold as on a cliff face... falling, falling away... she was forcing him away...

'This has to kill you.'

She was killing him... she was killing him... got it wrong... wrong to trust them... he was going to die... die... falling, falling, falling... into silence...

-oAo-


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

"It is time, Illum," says the Wraith they call Todd ash Luyten out of shadows.

"I go with you now?" asks Illum. He'd been walking the endless corridors again and had stopped lost in thought. Hadn't heard the Wraith's approach.

He'd slept and fed well. Had been given a high dose of the enzyme. Yes. It must be time like his Master says.

Like the Voice says…

Once, he'd known the auburn haired woman. Sure of it. Saw her walking in corridors so unlike these. White. Copper plating. Clean. He'd touched the walls of the Wraith ship and hated the way that they feel. Dirty. Stained. Blackened as if with decay, with... death. There. There in the city of towers it had been home. In his memory, the woman's figure… her gait is graceful, elegant and confident. She turns to smile. She says his name but it is not Illum. He's seen this image so many times. She has spoken his true name so many times. But it falls from him in the space between and he never hears. 'This is not you,' she says, and he loses her. One day the smile will linger on, and he will touch her. One day, he will have hope again and not this deadness in his heart that tells him he must follow the Wraith and the Voice no matter what.

"We will be beamed down to the planet."

"Beamed?" Illum remembers it. He'd been brought here using their beam technology. Swept away from consciousness by blinding white light. From white corridors. They tell him he's come from a green place of farmlands but he doesn't believe them. He came from a city of towers surrounded by sea. Should he tell the Wraith that he is remembering things? Remembering things contrary to what he's been told. Is the Wraith tricking Illum in some way by hiding up his past?

It might not be his past. But simply a dream. A dream of hope.

"You need not worry. It is painless." And yet the Wraith looks uneasy. On edge. Even more tired than the day before. Wraith require little sleep but what is about to happen down on this planet is worrying him. "Your molecules, particles of you, are disassembled and reassembled."

Illum understands. The Wraith always seems to think Illum has to have everything explained. He isn't the Wraith's servant as such, but his student. Illum nods showing he comprehends.

"The ship will not be landing?" he asks.

"Those we are to meet will not permit it." Todd ash Luyten starts to walk away and holds out a hand for Illum to accompany him. They walk on side by side and Illum feels like an equal. "And we are to beam down some distance from their habitat. They say it is for security purposes. But they have... _in the past_," he corrected, "they have had great powers at their disposal and can counteract anything we offer as attack. It is possible they could rip this ship from the skies if they so please. I have seen them throw storms against great cities. So you see... it is their wish to toy with us... play with us... laugh at our discomfit, at our expense," he says finishing with a sniff. "We are to land at a site our intelligence tells us is marshland."

"And you have to meet them? There is no alternative? You cannot go elsewhere?"

Illum remembers his Master demanding power over Pegasus. The dividing line between his dreams and his memories is so thin. Was it a memory or a dream? Is it the Forfallen who can give him this power? But the Wraith seems sad. It must only have been a dream after all.

"No. There is no alternative."

Todd ash Luyten does not take exception that his servant asks him these questions. Questions that might be seen as doubting his authority. He seems to delight in them. Illum must be his student then. And Todd ash Luyten his mentor. But what was he learning? He would never wish to learn to live with Wraith. Other dreams, no, _nightmares_, tell Illum that Wraith are a threat to his kind. In his nightmares, he sees his kind being killed by the mere touch of a hand. Perhaps this meeting might be Illum's chance to escape? Perhaps after this meeting, Todd ash Luyten will release him? Perhaps this meeting concerns Illum? Perhaps Todd ash Luyten is handing him over to new masters…

They reach a chamber that Illum has only ever explored the once. Then, there had been a half dozen Wraith working there, so he had passed it by. Now there are only two. One at a console. The other approaches Illum and hands him a thick black jacket, a Wraith jacket shorter than the full length of his Master's. He supposes the full length shows his Master's status. He feels repulsed by it and nearly wants to hand it straight back.

"You will need this. It rains almost perpetually on Forfallen," coaxes his Master, seeing his hesitation. The jacket is the same as his boots. Fabricated organically. It has the feel of wet leather. It is waterproof then, so he takes the Wraith's advice and exchanges the jacket with his lighter woollen one, shovelling his arms into the sleeves, that are wide with ample room for freedom of movement.

The Wraith talks of mundane things but Illum can hear the tension in his tone. His voice seems more... hissy. And Illum inwardly smiles at the word he's just invented. A broken rule of speech. This is how his old self – or his dream self – would talk – and act – breaking rules.

His Master invites him over to a slight raised dais in the centre of the chamber.

Illum is reluctant to move forward to join his Master. Yet the Voice that instructs him tells him he must do this next. Each act in its sequential order.

'_You are about to see what can only be described as monsters. Monsters capable of enacting monstrous deeds. You will be afraid.'_

This he remembers. He remembers again his dream of being ripped from the city of towers that was his home. Where he had felt safe and secure. Warmth of dread tightens in his stomach.

'_But you are trusted to carry on with your duty regardless,' _says the Voice.

One act after the next.

His eyes meet with his Master's. And in the briefest of moments, he sees his Master's own uncertainty flick across his serpent eyes. And somehow, Illum is encouraged by that. They are in this together. Together, sharing the danger. As if, his Master would never put his servant in peril unless he was prepared to face it himself.

And Illum steps up to the dais.

He is instantly lost in shimmering white light and then... he blinks against the darkness that presses against his face. Staggers against the buffet of a strong wind. His Master's arm holds his own. He blinks again as lightning strikes out the world around him. His Master calls out to him but the call is meaningless, buried in the rolling of thunder that follows. He draws up a hand to protect his face against the cold sting of rain. Another flash of lightning and he sees he would have fallen forward into the quagmire that sucks at his feet if it had not been for his Master.

"How far?" he yells as he becomes orientated to his surroundings, seeing a black flatness all around with the slightly less blackness of the sky above. "Which way?" This seems to be a more important question. There appears to be no where to aim for. And then he spots the high rise of hills circling a mountain to his left.

His Master still supports him, and pushes him in that direction, not unkindly, more to give him momentum to move on. Even now, his Master is so much stronger than he.

They are in this together. Heavy dragging step after heavy dragging step. The noises of the storm deafening them. They are reduced to using hand signals. The Wraith has better eyesight than Illum and more easily throws off the white light affect of the flashes that blind Illum. His Master is able to select the best tufts of the marsh grass where it grows short, beaten down, tangled and twisted by years of storms, keeping them both clear of the bog. Or, where the reeds grow tall, where gnarled trees offer cover, he guides Illum through by holding back the stems that rattle in the wind. Even so, Illum stumbles twice, the second time taking the Wraith down with him-

Choking, stinking water in their faces. Both gasping, groping for foothold and handhold to push themselves clear and upright once more.

They are in this together.

Their progress is slow and laboured and Illum hates the cold clamminess at his back under his Wraith jacket. Hates the muck that clings to him. Hates the way his legs ache at the drag of the mud and vegetation. Hates the way he can see nothing with the darkness or with the searing lightning, or with the way the rain beats into his face. Hates the confusion that hits his brain that he cannot shake off with this onslaught of the elements.

Once... he'd been in a storm... in a city of towers... he is sure of it... and... he had defeated an enemy then... he'd possessed... what was the weapon?... Though his hands are now numb with cold, they twitch as if in some familiar movement. And he stops and stares down at the wet paleness of his fingers in the darkness, breathless with exhaustion, breathless at the emotion of the sudden recall... before his Master pushes him ever onward.

The Wraith have stunners. His weapon had not been unlike a stunner. He is sure of it. They are to meet monsters and neither Illum nor his Master have weapons for protection. The monsters will not allow it.

And monsters... monsters sound like... a tale told to children to talk of monsters.

What is the purpose of the meeting?

'I need power,' says his Master in a dream.

'_You will know,'_ says the Voice.

The mountain looms close and dark immediately ahead of them now. And the storm grows quieter in the shelter of its slopes.

Todd ash Luyten suddenly halts him and grips his arm tight. He is as breathless as Illum. He points to a clump of reeds that grow in a pool, turbulent, spiked with the pelting rain.

Illum sees the movement too. Black shapes almost the size of a man. He narrows his eyes to make them out as they slouch and slither quickly from view, meaning not to be seen. He curses as they slip away - he would have preferred to see sooner, rather than later what they are up against.

"Thirds! They have been watching us for two, three hundred lengths. Ha! And it is not to ensure we do not drown!"

Illum cannot help but smile at his Master's retort into the wind, hoping that the Thirds hear the complaint.

"Thirds?"

"They guard the mountain. We will meet the Seconds and the Queen, the First."

"They organise themselves like the Wraith?"

"Yes. But there the similarity stops." There is contempt in the Wraith's voice.

Unlike his Master he had not noticed them previously. He supposes his Master has a sixth sense about these things. Illum feels he has let his Master down by not being more observant. Is he not here to safeguard his Master from harm? Isn't that the point of Illum accompanying his Master? At times, though, it feels like the reverse is true. It feels like his Master can take care of himself. And... Illum has no weapon.

Gaining their breath, they begin the ascent upwards.

"There should be a path," his Master shouts, and there is, of sorts. That meanders through heathers that snag at their feet, round rocks and boulders that glisten with every lightning flash, that make their footing slippery and tricky. Occasionally, smaller rocks and pebbles rattle somewhere in the shrubby bushes that grow on either side of them. The Thirds are still following.

Illum pauses. Listens above the howling of the wind that has picked up again as they climb to the higher reaches. He is certain he can hear... a strange... clicking sound... like crickets back home... Crickets? Home? Where has that come from? Grass fields where he ran as a boy. Summer. Sunshine. Scraped knees. Ponies to ride. Carefree. Far removed from this place.

'_Do not remember self. Do not remember who you were,'_ says the Voice.

But this clicking... this clicking... is like... like a warning... How does he know? Has he heard the warning before?

'_Do not attempt to remember.' _

Then it is forbidden. To remember is not the next task. To accept each moment is the task he must follow.

And he continues to trudge upwards to rejoin his Master's side.

The Thirds make little attempt to conceal themselves now. Illum is forced to concentrate on keeping his foothold on the uneven slope, daring only occasionally to cast chance glances their way. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees giant insects that scuttle at great speed and ease over the rocky incline. Monsters. They pause now and then, to scent the air, as if to check his and his Master's progress. They possess oversize heads with bulbous eyes, and front claws held high into the wind... to threaten.

'_There are monsters. You will be afraid.'_

He has seen them before.

Somewhere.

'_Do not remember self.'_

He had been lucky to escape. The auburn haired lady, the tall strong man... and another had been lucky to escape.

'_Do not remember self.'_

"Master, have I seen them before?" he asks but Todd ash Luyten is many steps ahead of him and higher up the slope as if keen now to reach to the Forfallen camp.

He cannot stop it.

Remembering.

Something is unravelling. Something deep inside is unravelling. He cannot stop it. The Voice is commanding him. And he knows it is important to prevent these things into his mind.

"Master!" but his own voice is carried away in the wind and Todd ash Luyten continues on above him, oblivious.

He scrabbles forward faster, on all fours, trying to catch hold of the Wraith's coat. Thoughts now of giant iratus bugs come unbidden. Black shapes that moved in underground corridors in the labs of the Wraith they called Michael. Bodies of humans that had been experimented on. Powerful memories explode into his head, a torrent of memories he cannot stop. The weapon... the weapon had been a gun and he had held it up to the face of Michael. And had had a gun held up to his own face. And he and his friends were all in danger. This hadn't been a dream. He is certain he'd lived these moments. He has to tell the Master he is disobeying the Voice. He is remembering and cannot stop it. And it is wrong to remember.

They reach level ground suddenly and the Wraith turns to him. His hair, caught by the wind, tangles about his head and he uses a hand to free it from his face. His face questions Illum's new hurry.

"Master!" he gasps out. "Master! My memory! My memory – I can't stop it! Master!" He is sorry. He is sorry he has failed his Master. Would he punish him? Should he run rather than tell the Master? Where would he go on this godforsaken planet? The Thirds or the marsh will kill him for sure. No weapon. No gun. No friend. Alone. Where would he run?

The Wraith is alarmed – punishment will follow shortly – like in his dream, he will have all life sucked from him. His Master strides forward and lifts Illum to standing. A strange hazed moonlight filters through ragged clouds showing... his fear? Eye to eye and Illum can see it is not anger but panic on the Wraith's face.

"Todd!" And Illum doesn't know why he uses the Wraith's name that way. Just so natural. Like... like an equal.

They are in this together...

"The Queen!" Todd says. "She must have tricked us!" What Queen? "Unless, your memories were too strong!" he is thinking aloud and Illum can't follow his reasoning.

"It is imperative, crucial to this meeting you do not remember _anything!"_ And Todd is shaking him by the shoulders. "You understand me, Illum! They read minds. They must not see those memories!" he spits out. And then he surveys the slope all round, anxious that his outburst might have been overheard. His Master pulls up strength and drives his concern away.

"How much? How much do you remember?" he rushes out with a lowered voice.

"Iratus bugs. A wraith called Michael. An auburn haired woman." Illum is gabbling. Todd may be calmer now, but it is Illum who is afraid. The Voice had instructed him not to remember.

"That is all?" and he seems relieved. "Fight it! Fight it, Illum! I trust you to fight it. Think of now. Think of this moment now. Think of the moment that is about to be! The danger we face now." His hands are still clutching Illum's shoulders and he shakes Illum again. His former apprehension returns. "Think of it all as a dream! I can perhaps... shield you... more." This he says with so much effort. He clenches his mouth. Determined. And turns, looking around him. Madness in his face now.

There. There. They are closing in. And across the ground... the ground to their left seems to move in the darkness. Clicking. The clicking of a thousand iratus bugs that move as a wave, across the ground, down the mountain side. And a new memory. Pain in Illum's neck as one clings tight there. A memory of a small space ship and the auburn haired woman.

Drive it away. Drive it away.

The swarm of iratus bugs has been set in motion by the approach of five giant iratus bugs. They wear cloaks that stream out behind them in the wind as they walk as humans on two back legs. Their shoulders are humped. Stature of power and strength.

A giant iratus bug had killed the auburn haired woman. Illum had screamed. Bound to a chair, he had been unable to help her. They had killed too the tall strong man. Killed the man who talked fast, whose name was... but it escapes him.

But he must not remember. And does he wish to remember the grief that comes with those memories? For instinct tells him these had been his friends.

But he must not remember.

Illum has been told by the Voice. _'One task follows another.'_ The Wraith's plan. The Wraith's plan is falling apart. Disintegrating around them. Everything has been prepared for. Except this. Except how his mind has linked to the Iratus bugs. Why is it so important not to remember?

The Voice.

'_One task follows another.'_ Think of the plan. _'When you reach the cave,'_ and Illum notices the cave, a gaping maul in a cliff face that rises high above them, _'you will encounter the First Forfal and you must refrain from speaking. You must appear a dutiful servant to the Wraith.'_

"I'll try and keep quiet," he reassures his Master, breathing a prayer, hoping his mind won't give him away.

"Yes. Yes. Illum. Try to be silent," is all that Todd ash Luyten has the opportunity to say before he is compelled to turn to those he's come to meet on the mountainside. His face is serene now as if nothing has happened. Proud and tall. And Illum stands quiet behind him. Concentrating on the Voice providing him his next instruction.

"We meet at last," says the largest of the five, stopping short of Todd ash Luyten by a few paces.

"Indeed."

"You were fortunate to escape-"

"In the confusion, it was possible," cut in his Master.

Illum cannot read minds like Wraith but senses her wariness. She is afraid of Todd? Afraid to come too close. And Illum wonders what Todd has ever done to make these creatures feel that way.

Illum has to concentrate on something. He has to stop himself thinking. So he concentrates on the ring of bonfires that burn at the cave's entrance. It's raining again. Driving steel that makes him hunch his shoulders. It is raining again and he feels miserable standing there in the slopping mud. The weather ought to be enough to take his mind away from the memories. But his attention wanders back to the beasts that make his flesh crawl. And it is difficult not to think of those memories when this reality stands right before him. Huge heads, that move awkwardly, stiffly on plated bodies, that shine iridescent, like metal in the moonlight. Somewhere under that plating are eyes he guesses. A lisping voice from the mandibles, given a surreal quality by... an accompanying clicking noise. The equivalent of four spindly arms with pincer fingers that seem to have difficulty keeping steady in the brisk wind. But he senses their strength. He sees enough to know these beasts can squeeze a man – or Wraith – to death. He has seen that in the tunnels of Michael... no... don't think of that...

"We meet at last but it is not a pleasure!" declares the First. And one of the seconds... giggled? "You are not welcome!"

"A pity. But no, business is seldom a pleasure," responds his Master.

The Forfal keeps her distance, beckoning over four of the Thirds from the shadows.

"You will be searched."

Todd bows his head smiling, and then holds up his hands to subject himself to frisking, indicating that Illum should do likewise. Illum tenses. He cannot help himself. It is too close a proximity to these creatures. They stand only slightly taller than he but he reckons they pack twice the weight. Their tarsal claws pinch at his clothes and nip at his skin. They remind him of the damage they could do. Inwardly, he holds his nose too. They smell worse than any Wraith ship.

"I thought that you were all-seeing?" Todd taunts during the whole procedure. His face is lightened by the fires and shows that he is confidently smug despite being ruffled by his searchers. Neither is he bothered by the rain.

The First snorts. Fluid from her snout sprays out onto the ground where two small iratus bugs dart forward to devour an unexpected feast. She kicks them away in her annoyance, though, Illum believes her irritability is more to do with Todd than the bugs.

The First, who possesses a cloak slightly less ragged than the others, holds her head to one side and peers round Todd ash Luyten.

"Your servant? A stinking ugly human? A Wraith follower?" Her own teasing is in revenge to Todd's.

"Illum, yes," though Todd barely acknowledges him in the introduction. Illum is of no consequence.

"I am not concerned with his name!" she sounds off crossly. "He is new to your service? We were not aware you possessed a Wraith follower?"

"You wouldn't be. You recall I have prevented you reading my mind of late." The Forfal who has giggled before, giggles again. And the First slaps her hard across the top of her head. The Second drops to all six legs and scuttles away noisily sloshing through the mud.

"You may approach the cave to escape the rain, but he is to stay there!"

"He goes with me," says his Master tersely.

This isn't the plan. The plan is – _'stay close to your Master. Stay close to the Forfallen. Stay very close to the Forfallen. Do not ever be separated.'_

"No. He does not. Those are our conditions. Or else you leave. His presence is not necessary."

"I need to..." Illum ventures.

All eyes turn to him. His Master's. Those of the Forfallen, set somewhere in those huge heads. Right when he shouldn't have been drawing attention to himself. Even Todd sparks annoyance at him. But he has to stay close.

'_Do not become separated.'_

"I would like to remain at my Master's side. I fear... the... bugs." And he looks to the edges of the bonfire area where they click and chatter. And feels some truth in the words even if it is only an excuse.

A strange jittery laughter rings out from all the Forfallen, their mandibles furiously snapping, opening and shutting.

Illum knows how pathetic he looks. Dripping, cold and shivering in the rain despite his coat.

"You bring a coward with you!"

Todd is less than pleased and snarls out Illum's name in disgust. But Illum senses this is a charade. He senses that he is pleased with Illum's resourcefulness to attempt to stay close.

The First walks off towards the cave. The Seconds, including the one who's been reprimanded all lumber after her.

"What do you expect from a human? Bring the Snivelling One with you! If you think he will not _faint_ from the proceedings."

They and Illum expect Todd to follow but he stands still.

"I have my own condition. Send the Thirds back down the mountain. They are not necessary to these talks either."

Illum looks where four dozen Thirds form a guard at the entrance to the cave, where their searchers have joined them. Shapes and silhouettes only, dancing, bobbing in the light of the flickering fires.

'_Look, observe,'_ the Voice says. _'You will need to know the layout of the camp.'_

The Forfal stops and looks back at Todd ash Luyten. If she had had a face, an expression, Illlum would guess it would show amazement.

"You think to make demands after I permit your servant?"

"We have come unarmed and I have just spent the best half of a Forfallen day trekking through marsh of five thousand lengths – to meet _your_ requirements!" Illum cringes. Todd ash Luyten's voice could be very loud if he so pleased. The Wraith does little to conceal his lack of patience. "Send the Thirds away. We have been searched. You still outnumber us – _me,_" he corrects. His correction is more conciliatory – a slight bow of his head with the humour directed at Illum, for Illum obviously no longer counts as a threat.

"Perhaps my Thirds also fear... _bugs _and wish to remain close!"

The Forfallen crack the air with their laughter again, including some of the Thirds, picking up on the conversation with antennae waving high in the air.

Illum inclines his head. A pretence at shame. Though he is watchful of the Forfallen.

'_Watch, observe,'_ says the Voice. This is his next task. He still does not know the purpose of Todd bringing him here. It obviously isn't now to hand him over to new masters.

The First lifts her cloak, extending short wings that Illum guesses are flightless. She flicks them rapidly, using them to signal the Thirds somehow, for the Thirds dutifully file off back down the mountainside. In so doing, she shows off the narrowest of waists where her middle body section meets the fat abdomen. Breast plates form armour but with the wings out – a fleshy section sits exposed.

'_Watch, observe,'_ says the Voice. And he notes their vulnerability. _'Keep close.'_

"Both of you, then! Come!" commands the Forfal as she moves on again, beckoning them to follow with one right raised tarsal. "Come to the cave! Expect no refreshments! We have none!" she says lightly. The Seconds laugh again. "Feed on your manservant if you hunger or thirst! Perhaps that is why you have brought him! Supper!" More of that grating cacophony.

Illum catches sight of shelves of bottles stored within the cave that are lit from the light of the fires. He fights at repulsion at the sight of severed parts of animals preserved in various coloured liquids.

A jar of iratus bug eggs.

He recognises them. He has touched another similar batch once before. Can sense the feel of their smooth roundness at his fingertips even now. When he had... _changed_ before. He is changed? And he'd lost all reason then? He is certain that's how things had played out. Has the same happened again? Has he been brought back... to his own kind?

He touches his face, remembering the transformation of scaly skin that had disfigured him. Who is he? What _was_ he?

The voice says: _'do not remember self.'_ His hand drops quickly to his side. Do not remember. Concentrate on his Master. Concentrate on him and trust he will reveal all when the moment is right.

The First shows Todd to a boulder at the mouth of the cave.

He stumbles as he sits? Illum's Master is weak? What is weakening him?

"You are not well?" asks the First.

"It is nothing."

She sits on another rock opposite.

"Oh pfff! We both know how you struggle to protect your mind! Why not admit it?" And the Forfallen laugh once more.

The First appears to have forgotten Illum. She is not bothered where Illum should stand, so he positions himself to Todd's left shoulder, and places his hands behind his back. He watches the drips of rain fall from the roof, forming puddles of mud on the floor. He appreciates the heat of the nearby fire, that spits and sizzles in a new downpour. Three of the Seconds group around the same fire, several units away. They warm themselves, not minding the rain that's turning the outside world into a solid wall of silver.

Not close enough...

'_Keep close,'_ says the Voice.

What can Illum do now? Move to that fire also. Then he'd be away from the First and his Master. And he doesn't fancy the rain...

Giggles, he decides to call the giggling Second that, comes over and stands behind him.

She hums and clicks to herself. He feels her picking at the hem of his coat. Fingering the edge. He fights the urge to flick her off like the annoying insect she is.

What next?

'_Wait,'_ says the Voice. _'Wait for the moment.'_

"Well, now, who would have thought this particular Wraith Commander would be sitting here? You place yourself in great danger." The Forfal neatly crosses her two middle legs over what should have been her lap. Her upper arms… legs – Illum is unsure what to call them - hold her cloak tightly as if she suffers from the cold. Illum doubts it.

"I do not think so. Not as long as the Queen is in her protected chamber. You need me. I explained this in my request to meet," says Todd confidentially.

"We never have _need_ of you. If we wait, we can simply _take_ you. You have not energy that lasts for perpetuation. I see that it wears you down, even now to exert this mind control. The power of the talisman cannot last forever."

"I am not talking about the others, Ef Xo," and he dismisses the pendant with a wave of his hand. "I am talking about _you. _You cannot afford to wait. Your authority is being called into question. You need to be seen to be doing something to impress your followers. You need to be seen to fill the deficit left in your own powers by your inability to take the soul of the Queen, by the excessive overuse of the Trochlor lines in your misguided intent to kill... the Colonel. You warped them. Made them inoperable."

She stands suddenly. "You do not understand these things! How can you make these claims?" Her wings click furiously in temper, as she confronts the composed Todd ash Luyten.

Illum guesses the Wraith has touched a sore point.

"Our ship could have been ripped from the sky and it was not," he says simply unperturbed by the outburst. "My shielding of myself and the Queen cannot be so significant as to prevent that."

"Tut!"

And they all look to the forgotten Giggles who utters the sound from her spot behind Illum. Even Illum, intent in his following Todd's conversation, jumps slightly, though Giggles has continued to fidget at his jacket.

"Ga Hi?" The First, Ef Xo, seems perplexed, not realising the Second is so near, suddenly remembering that perhaps some of this conversation isn't for the ears of one of her Seconds.

Silence.

Except for the thundering of the downpour. Except for the dripping from the roof of the cave.

Giggles moves round Illum, idling one claw over his arm, smoothing two further claws over his chest. He stands his ground, holding back his head only a fraction, though fighting the disgust he feels at her closeness. She tunelessly hums, those bulbous eye sections peering at him as if through him. Her mandible and the fleshy parts of her mouth, slobber over his jacket, so near, as if divining his very being by taste, touch and smell.

The other Seconds leave their place near the fire and draw close.

Slowly.

Threat.

This has nothing to do with the conversation between Todd and Ef Xo.

This moment has everything to do with Illum. His heart clenches. Has he a memory he's given away? He is sure he hasn't. He is sure that he has stood there, trying to understand what it is that Todd is discussing. Trying to understand why he has been brought to Forfallen. And nothing else.

Todd looks uneasy and rises from his place on the boulder.

Close. Close. The Seconds come closer.

"He has... the Ancient gene," Ga Hi lisps eventually, still stroking his coat. She then turns to his Master, jabbing a claw into the air at him. "Naughty, naughty Todd ash Luyten not to tell us!"

"A Lantean?" asks one of the others as all began to click.

Coming closer, closer.

"Why bring a Lantean here?" Accusing. Mistrusting. A trick of his Master's? But Illum doesn't understand what either a Lantean or an Ancient gene are. He is a Lantean? Not from Tierozn? Something about himself has been given away... and it is not a memory he has let slip.

Illum looks to Todd to guide him, to ask what he should do next. Todd's face is full of that earlier apprehension.

He says it quietly.

"It is... _ok_, Illum."

Ok.

'_Ok is the code'_

The trigger.

'_Kill them.'_

He is here to kill the Forfallen.

And he has only two minutes.

With his left arm, he grabs at a wing of Ga Hi, spins her round and pushes his fist into that softness of her middle, feeling the blade that has extended from the flesh of his right wrist, grate on sinew and muscle. He saws into her, withdrawing his arm, sticky, soaked with black slime, throwing her down, already leaping round her to tackle a second Forfal that lurches at him from his left side. Rain and smoke in his face. He is doing this blindly. Slicing upwards through to the belly. Feeling the twitch, the pain, the impact against hard gristle, the stench of her spilled inwards finding his way to his nostrils.

A killing machine.

Kill for those in Pegasus that these beasts sought to control. Kill for his friends. For himself.

The Voice says: _'You are the victim.'_

No compassion. No compunction. No pity. And a third Forfal collapses, falling back into the fire, sending ash and smoke ever crazily all around, joining the other two that screech and jerk in their death throes.

His strength, his single-mindedness drives him on.

He has done this before. He was trained to kill. If ever there was a need. And the need is now.

But Illum has to do this quickly. Before he is attacked himself.

He turns to seek out the surviving two Forfallen in the downpour and smoke. Gasping, grateful for the breather. Swiping his left hand across his sweaty face. Heart thumping loud in his ears from adrenalin. Searching.

Todd? Where is he? Aware of scuffling, of movement. The sudden flare of the flames as the third Forfal burns in the blaze.

And he fights at his sudden horror, catching sight then of the mutilation of his arm, where the blade protrudes from the wrist bone. And weirdly he notices detail - how the last Forfal has scratched a gorge along its length, ripping his jacket.

The Voice says: _'You will know the moment. You will know your weapon._'

Waiting for the code. Waiting for the flex of his muscle to unleash the steel from its grisly sheath. He is no better than a dog set to hunt.

'_You are their victim. Only you can kill them.'_

But he hasn't time to think about how he feels-

"Todd! Todd!" he calls blindly into the smoke.

A blow to his back hurls him squelching into the mud. Breath gone. Stunned. Dazed. And then the pain hits. Ash and dirt at his nose. Suffocating. Stinging his eyes. Fighting. Coughing. He has to get up. A second blow to his ribs rolls him into the fire. Fight now. Fight now for himself. He is a killing machine but so are they.

He flips himself over. Shuffles back on his elbows and backside, kicking ash and burning debris up high to the head of the beast. Confusing the Second. Holding her back. She stumbles.

'_Do this quickly. Their claws can take off your hand, your head. Their abdomen contains poison. Do not go near either.'_

No kidding.

'_You will have two of your minutes to complete the task. But if you do not finish and kill all five, it means failure.' _

He scrambles to his feet, conscious of Todd still fighting the First behind him. He and Todd are practically back to back. They are in this together. But how are they to succeed? Illum's back and ribs pulse painfully from the kicks he's received. They've lost the advantage of surprise. But it'd been impossible odds anyhow.

In front, the advancing Second. He holds up his blade. She edges off cautiously. Stalemate.

He hears Ef Xo laugh at them. "Fools! Do you not know that we heal?"

Illum casts a look to the fire where the third Forfal still burns. Convinced it can't be true. Giggles clicks from somewhere in the darkness near the cave, but the Second Forfal that he has attacked lays motionless.

He hears Todd's reply, taunting. "He is a victim of your curses. He has the power to kill you and send you all to hell!"

A noise and muffled groans from Todd as the Wraith takes more blows.

But Wraith heal too, don't they?

"Who is he? Who is he?" shrieks Ef Xo.

More taunting is followed by a thud behind him. Illum daren't look to see the fate of his Master. His own Forfal is closing in, ready to make a move. He touches his lips with his tongue to prepare himself. Wary.

And darts forward. Hopes he takes her by surprise. She grabs at his shoulder with one claw, sinking another claw through the jacket to the flesh. He cries out and lost in the pain, he gives her the advantage to wrap her upper limbs round his back. His face ends up clamped to her hard middle section that cuts into his right cheek. Suffocating. Wringing the strength out of him. His blade is trapped at his side. He feels her middle arm slide round to his right wrist. He struggles, attempting to flex his arm to gain some distance. A few hair-breaths only. He is suffocating. His ears fail him. A whizzing noise…

'_They can take a hand off with one claw. You must be quick.'_

He thinks of the enzyme. Injected to give power to his muscles. No use.

'_You have to complete the task in two minutes. They will escape otherwise. Take refuge in the Trochlor lines and find life again, emerging triumphant.'_

The Forfal is groping for his blade. She is concentrating on that. Less of her own strength in actually pinning him. He goes limp. Let it fool her. Let it fool her that she has him beat. He slips down a fraction and somehow that gives him the space to take the deep breath he needs. He brings up his arms and throws her off, backs away, and dives forward again with the blade thrusting up. The angle is wrong and it slides along a breastplate not finding its mark. The move exposes his own body and a middle claw comes slicing sideways through the air, knifing into his left thigh.

No pain. No pain until his brain registers what has happened. And then he cries out, his left hand instinctively grabbing his thigh. Warm, oozing with blood. His blade retracts as his right hand tries to break his fall. He moans there on the ground.

The shadow of the Forfal over him and he frantically scrambles away, hissing with the fire of the wound, still trying to keep his hand firmly on the wound. Kicking at the mud, ploughing his way through the mud on his right elbow, desperately kicking at the legs of the advancing Forfallen who clicks and clicks with the menace of a drum beat. He's panting with the pain of each kick. The enzyme should be helping him. Give it time. But he wonders if he has that time now. Somewhere he remembers shock. Nothing can compensate for the blood he's loosing. Not even enzyme.

And then there are two Forfallen in the smoke and the teeming rain.

Finished with Todd, Ef Xo has joined her mate. Coming round behind her and the fire. He squints at her. Tries to bring her into focus. He is dead meat. And crazily, he wonders what they'll do with his dead body. Eat him? Feed him to the bugs?

And Ef Xo has brought with her another weapon. He sees it the same as he sees everything. As a glint in the burning fires.

The spike at the end of her abdomen.

Twitching low to the ground.

Again they keep their distance. Guarded. Though he does not understand why.

He pushes himself up to sitting and then levers himself up to his feet. Nearly staggering back with the effort. Gasping, doubling up with the torture of his thigh, before finally straightening up as best he can. A little lopsided perhaps but he is up and facing them. The enzyme has to be working to get him this far. His breath's hitching, shivering. His sweat, the rain and the mud are soaking him.

They're clicking to one another. Signalling. Carrying on some sort of conversation that only they comprehend.

Damn crickets.

"Come on, finish it!" He's suddenly angry at them. Is that the enzyme? Angry that they have killed Todd, angry that they stand about and talk, angry that he has failed, allowed himself to fail. Angry at his wound that has weakened him.

The anger brings the adrenalin he needs – and he launches himself forward, blade ready, crying out his charge, targeting the slightly closer Second. He can't explain it. He's taken her completely by surprise? He's looked so done for? A claw comes up to shield her body and he takes it clean off. A second claw and a third claw fall as he hacks, feeling the jolt of every blow jar his thigh and his arm and his head. He pushes his blade upwards as her mandibles descend, slobbering, trying to gnaw at the side of his head. He feels her reel in her own pain. He retracts the blade slightly, scraping it across her shoulder, peeling over those breast plates to finally enter her soft stomach. Twisting.

They freeze there together. Bodies locked. He is utterly drained with no strength to move or withdraw the blade.

He feels her blood, the mess of her innards running cold onto his arm.

And he feels the other cold seep through his veins… not knowing exactly when Ef Xo has struck him with her spike…

Or where.

Guesses it's his lower back. A burning sensation in that area that contrasts with the icy cold he is feeling.

He shudders as sudden painful cramps grip his stomach and his lungs. He can't even cry out. He and the Forfal drop together. The crash of bodies, close but somehow distant.

Fading…

He is thrown clear, but lays, paralysed now, looking at what should be the falling silver rain… that washes over his face…

… and he sees only blackness.

-oAo-


	22. Chapter 22

A/N Many thanks to readers and reviewers! It's been great that you've all made it this far! And here is the penultimate chapter…

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two

Todd ash Luyten woke. Alone. No whispering of fellow Wraith. So… this had not been hibernation. Had not been one of those snatches of rest in his duties that he seldom needed. But the strange rare sleep of unconsciousness...

Without moving from the place where he had fallen in the mud, he hastily speeded up his thoughts. Found his ship there in the stars, somewhere above the roiling clouds, now brindled and slashed dark red with the approaching Forfallen dawn.

'_Rescue'… _he transferred through the air. If he doesn't succumb... if...

Not simply rescue for himself, though that would be good, but he also needed his ship's weaponry to blast the Thirds from this existence.

That had been next part of his plan... even if this one had failed.

Pain? Injured, though healing. Yes. His arm, his side where Ef Xo had torn at his flesh. Yes. Healing but slowly. Injured. Shamed on the ground in the mud. Yes. And Ef Xo had abandoned him to deal with Illum. To deal with John Sheppard. For during Todd ash Luyten's unconsciousness, his shield would have dropped and she would consequently have discovered Sheppard's true identity. Must... now... move... Pain…? But he must help the human.

But perhaps it is too late...

He hissed as he pushed himself to his knees, clutching at his side, and hissed again as he stood, staggered, unsure of direction, dropping heavily to his knees again. Shame. No. No. Ten thousand years for breath to end now? No. No.

He tugged away two iratus bugs that had suckered themselves to his wound. Throwing them down to the slop of mud where they squealed in protest.

And he stood.

But which way? Smoke hung and billowed low, obscuring vision in the half-light. Rain plastered his filthy hair to his scalp. He licked at his teeth, swiping his good arm quickly across the rivulets of rain, dirt and sweat that ran down his face. A sorry state. Shame. Where was the pride now?

Which way? And he tried to focus. Tried to listen, to fight off the dizziness, the blackness again. Next time he would not wake... he needed to feed. And he fought that longing too.

There. There. On the other side of the fire, where the blackened contorted corpse of the one they called Ka Oh, flared and sparked still, despite the downpour. There. John Sheppard, injured also, facing both Ef Xo and Ab Su.

Todd ash Luyten could not move fast enough. Five arm lengths were all that was required. And in that time, John Sheppard launched his attack on Ab Su. In that time, Ef Xo, moved in, clutched at the human's jacket to steady herself, and twisted up her abdomen for the fatal stab.

Todd's heart sank even as he moved across the space. Even as he flexed his own wrist to extend his own blade, stifling the cry of his injured arm as he did so. He sliced off her two right-side arms in one blow as she began to turn, sensing his approach. And he pulled back to regain strength and breath for a second strike.

She stumbled, lilting to one side.

Her voice sneering but broken - they felt pain?

"Oh, you have a weapon too? You think to kill me? Death at your hands is nothing to me. I will survive. Unlike your friend!" And John Sheppard and the Forfal, Ab Su, slipped to ground, locked together.

Sheppard's body jerking. His eyes staring to the heavens.

"Tales told to human infants that good always prevails! I have my refuge! Death will never defeat me!" she shouted at him, taking a forward faltering step.

"You forget Ef Xo..." and he held up his arm high and wide, using his left arm to support the injured right. An executioner's sword. "As you cursed me also, I, too, have been your victim. And I wish you very much dead in this place," he growled out, "and damned in the next!" And he swung his arm with all his might, cleanly removing her head.

-oAo-

"How long we gotta wait?" muttered Ronon, pacing the room.

And that reminded Rodney of the child who drives his parents insane with: 'are we nearly there yet? Are we nearly there yet?' Something that Rodney had had first-hand experience of – he'd been that child once.

Ronon rarely entered Rodney's lab. And Rodney suspected that the Satedan, since his return to Atlantis a couple of hours ago, had just about exhausted every possible location on the base to rant and rave in, and was now trying out places a little ways down his usual list. Or possibly, even resorting to using his subsidiary list.

Rodney held up a finger.

"Tsk!" As if testing the temperature – though he was, come to think of it, trying to reduce said temperature. That was one sizzling temper of Ronon's but Rodney had long learned Ronon's anger was like a storm – and one that would soon blow out. Usually killing the odd Wraith helped, or trying to undo the seam of some punch bag – or – talking it out with Sheppard…

And Rodney's finger drooped a little at that thought, and curled, and he closed his hand shut, letting it fall into his lap as he swivelled round on his chair, away from his desk and laptop.

"Technically, you're not supposed to even _think_ about... _it."_

Ronon stopped. Almost surprised. Almost as if he hadn't a clue what Rodney was talking about.

"You know... _it,_" repeated, nudged Rodney, hating to call anything regarding John as 'it'. And then he bit his lip realising he'd just thought 'it'. But then, he had a million times already.

"I didn't mention his name," defended Ronon earnestly.

"No, but you thought it. And you did it again. Just then," pointed out Rodney with more lightness than he actually felt.

Ronon, waved him off with a hand as impossible to argue to with and paced the floor again, head down. As if all his answers were written on his boots. Or in the gouge he was wearing out on Rodney's floor.

"It should have been left to us! We could have hit that place with marines."

"There you go again! They would have _known_! We wouldn't have got within one hyperspace leap of them. "

"And they would have known with Todd too." Ronon had had this explained to him a thousand times. And had made that same reply. And then had had it explained again that it was only Sheppard who could kill the Forfallen. But Rodney was just happy to provide a listener for once. There were times when he couldn't concentrate on his work anyhow. Sleepy from sleepless nights. Strange though, to think he was attempting to provide some positive thought here when he, in effect, felt none. Not one iota. Especially over the 'Wraith factor.' What would it be, ten seconds before Ronon brought up the 'Wraith factor' again?

Rodney counted the seconds. A record. Seven point five.

"You can't trust a Wraith. You can't trust Todd."

And, Rodney, who thought he should be on the stage for giving this same perfect performance over and over, made his usual response.

"Teyla says, on this occasion, we can."

But it was all like touching rosary beads and saying a hundred 'Hail Marys'. The very act of repetition made it believable…

Hope.

"This is Shep-"

"Ha!" And Rodney held up a hand again. "No mention of he who mustn't be mentioned except in past tense-"

"This is Sheppard's life, we're talking about," the Satedan grated out, low, defiant, standing still now, eyes fixed intently on Rodney.

No. It didn't matter. Didn't matter that Ronon had said Sheppard's name in such a way he couldn't be dead. Not anymore. By now... by now, it must have all been settled. One way or another.

He sighed turning back to his desk.

"Sheppard would never do anything he didn't choose to do," he said, surprised how he'd come to terms with the impossible situation. "He'll come back. You'll see. No more hexes. No more curses. All sorted."

"Why haven't we heard anything?" A rhetorical question of Ronon's that all on Atlantis were repeating. It was like Sheppard was on some old Apollo mission, in orbit on the dark side of the moon, out of sight with no radio communications and they were all waiting with baited breath for the rocket and astronaut to appear safely on the other side again.

And Ronon continued with the pacing.

"I said I'll kill him." He meant Todd. Well, Ronon hoped he meant Todd. Though admittedly, there'd been a number of times when Rodney had been inclined too, to knock some sense into Sheppard.

"And that will achieve what exactly?" said Rodney, getting a little impatient now with Ronon's belligerence.

"He did this to him!"

"Yeah, a bit of a complicated way to get back at Sheppard, don't you think? Oh, let's stab Sheppard and then bring Sheppard back to life, fabricate some story about witches and curses so as I can take him away and try and kill him again!" And he held up both hands making the inverted commas gesture.

Ronon blinked at him. It wasn't that he didn't believe or understand the explanation - just that he had more of a desire to blame and to lash out.

A friend all the same, thought Rodney as he gave up on his work and offered to take Ronon for coffee.

-oAo-

Todd ash Luyten allowed the blade to slide back into his arm, hissing at the pain that cut to his neck and brain, doubling up, hugging his right arm close to his body. Weak. Weak. And in the light of the flickering fire, he saw that the healing was still yet slow, the slash thick with oozing black blood, the skin so ragged across the wound it scarcely concealed the blade in its sheath.

Ha! A good idea nonetheless. No regrets. And he was satisfied at the heap of Forfallen carcasses at his feet.

Regrets however... and he looked to the place where Sheppard lay with Ab Su slumped across his legs.

The familiar whine of Darts filled the sky and he looked up, squinting against the renewed rain falling from clouds, rose pink, hiding the morning sun.

And he felt hope at the sight – the first for some time. He could almost be... relieved. The sound of distant bangs, the rumble of explosions through the ground to his feet told him his orders were being carried out and the lesser Thirds were being destroyed. Shortly, they would move to this area too, dousing the whole area in acid, ensuring there were no survivors, cleansing the mountain of iratus bugs to ensure that no Forfallen young escaped in their midst.

No. No regrets except...

Sheppard.

He would have to return the body to Atlantis, he supposed… Their culture. Their rituals. Their sentimentality. Though, yes, he felt regret. That part of the plan did not go well. His own fault. If his arm hadn't nearly been severed at the outset, he and Sheppard would have shared the burden of dispatching the Forfallen.

Still clutching his injured arm close to his side, he dragged himself over to Sheppard, and dropped wearily on one knee into the mud, shutting his lips tight against the pain, willing the flow of his body's chemicals to speed his recovery. His intention was to pull Sheppard's body clear of the Forfal, in preparation for the arrival of their rescue.

Well, now... and felt his eyes open in surprise.

Sheppard still breathed?

With his left hand he felt Sheppard's face in the poor light of the early dawn. The hair and beard, matted with dirt and the skin clammy with fever. The human's frame shook with short hitching to draw in air. His eyes shone sightless and delirious. The poison had not claimed him but it would not be long before it did. Ef Xo must have been unable to fully inject the venom.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed away the corpse of Ab Su.

Red blood soaked the tunic pants of the Colonel.

Regret...

Todd ash Luyten would not be able to save Sheppard a second time.

A noise suddenly a few steps closer to the cave's entrance.

Clicking, giggling.

Alarm that the one they called Ga Hi still lived. And he stood briskly, forgetting all discomfort of his wounds and strode over to her.

"Dead soon! Dead soon! Dead soon!" she prattled, as one of those many-coloured talking birds.

Did she mean John Sheppard or herself? For blood gargled from her mandible, puddling oily around her head and from her abdomen. She had marginally succeeded in self-healing.

He stood over her. Her head moved slightly. He guessed he was being surveyed by her thousand eyes.

"Mercy. Mercy. Mercy."

"Quick mercy, if you tell me where the antidote is!" And he looked to the cave. He had noticed the potions earlier. Perhaps there was a chance... and his blade shot out of his arm once more though he meant to kill her fast anyway. Not one must escape to the Trochlor lines. He supposed in her weakened state she could not realise that.

The Forfal managed a laugh in mockery but before she had finished, he sliced off her head, jolting his injured arm against the tough exoskeleton.

He stood breathing deeply, looking down at her. Looking at his blade with hardly the energy to retract it. Black blood dripped from the steel. He studied it. Looked back to Sheppard and then back to Ga Hi.

They must have their own resistance. To their own poison.

With dragging feet, he slopped back through the mud to Ef Xo, stooped painfully and spooned up the First's blood on his blade. He then hobbled the two steps over to Sheppard, slumped down to his knees at the human's side, careful to hold the blade level, and allowed the Forfallen blood to drip into the gash of Sheppard's leg, even prodding into the wound with the blade's tip. It was crude and rudimentary but what could it hurt?

Bah! Exhausted and his brain cells were not working? The human blood circulatory system was not unlike his own. Too much blood had already leeched and pressure of flow must therefore be lost from the leg.

He ripped open the sleeves of Sheppard's jacket and tunic, tore off the Wraith bandage that still covered the elbow joint exposing the surgical wound made to insert Sheppard's blade. Healed now but scabbed.

He lifted his head, hearing the approach of the Darts that would ferry them back to his ship. He must be quick now – and with this sense of urgency, he collected more of Ef Xo's blood and returning to Sheppard, dropping again, he used the sharp point of the blade to re-open the wound, squinting to focus on his handiwork, his breath wheezing in his effort to concentrate, nodding satisfied as he delicately nicked the vein in the small of Sheppard's arm, smearing the blade against the tiny bubble of oozing blood.

The human showed no reaction. Continued to stare ever upwards. This abuse might kill him. His heart might not pump with sufficient vigour to drive the Forfal's blood round his organs that were slowly and painfully being squeezed of life.

Regret…

The whine of a Dart closing fast. He looked up.

He did this as a promise to Teyla Emmagan?

No.

And the beam engulfed them both.

-oAo-

They were carrying him, Illum, servant to Todd ash Luyten along dark corridors. His head lolled. Dizzy. Sick. Sweat, tears of pain filled his eyes. His Master that followed? His image dancing in the sparkling mirage of lamplight. Laughing at him. Laughing at him that he was nothing more than a killing machine. A monster. Their hands gripped his legs, his arms and he thought he screamed at the scorch of their touch. But his tongue was swollen, dry. He struggled, twisted, to wrench himself from their grip. But they held him firmer when his Master spoke, his voice rumbling on, lost in Illum's fever.

No. No. And he fell limp again. Don't... don't touch... burning me. Can't you see? Burning me.

But he was only a killing machine to do their bidding. What did they care?

A glimpse of his bandaged arm. Blood. An image of the blade.

Take it out! Take it out! His mind screamed but his voice was nothing more than feeble complaint. His need echoed on in his head.

"Take it out. Take it out," he whimpered. Human. I'm human. Human. Not a killing machine.

Human faces lined the walls. Another. And another. And another. Swaddled in spidery webs. Slathered with slime. Faces of anguish that cried out their own pitiful pleas to escape.

He struggled again against the many hands that now held him upright, burning him still as they pressed him into a recess in the wall.

The Voice of the Witch tells him, be afraid, for the Wraith eat humans. But he doesn't know if that's a dream.

This felt real.

No. No. I trusted you.

And hands guided tubes, that slithered their way over his burning skin, round his body, entering him, sliming, slathering. A nightmare of a coil of snakes.

They injected him with enzyme and he found the strength to scream finally, seeing his Master's face among those who sought to bury him alive in this cocoon.

"I trusted you!" His shout hoarse and faint and felt no part of him. But he was only a killing machine. A servant. They could do what they liked with him. He'd served them and now he had become their fodder.

The Voice returned didn't reach him in his sickness that saw no reason.

Unseen spiders wove the rubbery web and held him fast. He squirmed against the encroaching straps, climbing ever upwards, like a tide to drown him. Panicked at the horror. Worse than the pain. Desperate, he even flexed his wrist to activate the blade, to cut his way out but that had been bound shut.

The hands released him to his shroud.

John Sheppard, a voice said.

Meaningless words. That spun in his head with his sickness.

But like a requiem.

"I trusted you," he repeated, letting it damn his Master. Faint, from dry chapped lips, letting his body sinking into submission. Letting the cocoon take him over. Feeling its fluids course through him.

No longer human...

"Illum. Illum. I am Illum," he murmured. Human.

-oAo-

"Bring the Queen to me!" and Todd ash Luyten turned angrily to his Wraith, and they knew from his face not to question or contradict him. One remained, watching him with some perturbation while the other three turned – and _fled_? Ha! So they ought. He'd not felt this angry for some time.

He paced the corridor in front of Sheppard.

"Silence!" he ordered at the cries and snivelling from the other humans, finding their interruptions annoying. The shout had made his arm smart, reminding him of his wound and he strode to the neighbouring cocoon, ripped open the front and laid his right palm on a chest to feed, feeling the warmth of succour, unmindful of the withering look of horror before him. Ten thousand years of feeding and it was nothing to him. He no longer felt the thrill of conquering his prey. Of relishing their strength. Besides, few had it these days to impress him. Not since... Sheppard.

Feeding on humans had become a necessity. No more than that. He supposed that's why he entertained the notion of refraining from taking human life.

And yes, his arm had almost sealed over. A satisfactory result. And besides, the feeding had quietened one irritating voice. If not all, realising perhaps that they might be allowed to live one more day if they kept silent.

Sheppard.

His head had fallen forward. Unconscious again. Only his soiled and tangled hair to view.

Todd ash Luyten looked elsewhere, hating the way that regret somersaulted over pity. Taking out his sour mood by scowling at the Wraith who continued to stare at him. His way too of shutting out the Wraith whose mind would be sensing feelings that Todd ash Luyten would rather not display.

Yes, he supposed it was setting yet another precedent in Wraith history to demand the presence of a Queen and have her brought before him.

And in the cocoon chambers too. Unheard of. Well, well, indeed.

But as Todd paced again, impatiently waiting, he failed to put away that memory of Sheppard's betrayed look, his lack of comprehension, that the move to place Sheppard in the cocoon was the last attempt to save his life. He had seen the life support systems on Atlantis and this was as close as they could fabricate. And his, _aksla_, his human advisor was working in his laboratory this very instant, further developing the Forfallen antidote. If only Sheppard could be kept alive that long.

Why? Why keep Sheppard alive? Why go to these lengths? He had served his purpose. And Todd ash Luyten felt uncomfortable again, that he may be softening with these... _human_ emotions.

Obligations to Teyla Emmagan. Gratitude to John Sheppard.

He shifted his shoulders. Straightened himself. Shut out the thought as many footsteps approached.

And now he must do this too… and felt the rekindling of anger.

One Wraith marched in front, leading the Queen pushed along by an escort of two. She resisted the move forward by digging in her heels and fighting at the pincer grip on her upper arms, attempting to work free.

Yes, she should be worried.

He paced a circle, with his hands behind his back as the group came to a halt before him. He briefly glanced at her, scarcely acknowledging her as his anger simmered, not ceasing his pacing. Why should he show the decorum deserving of her position?

"You dared to drag me here! As if a human?" Once stopped, the guards had released their hold and she pulled up her robe, now soiled with the descent to this level of the ship. Abhorrence of the contamination evident in her expression, as she attempted to brush down her skirts. She dropped them as impossible to deal with and threw back her shoulders, haughty as ever, and then espied the recumbent Sheppard. Realisation dawning on her face, why she had been forcibly brought here.

He halted his pacing and eyed her levelly.

"You thought to trick me?" he accused with a low tone, holding down his fury.

"How so?" Again the toss of her head.

"You fed John Sheppard's mind with instructions. To forget. Yet his memory was to return once the Forfallen had been exterminated. Those were the orders."

Illum. Sheppard had said his name was Illum.

"He is still in fever, is he not? How can he know who he is? Consider himself fortunate that he is still alive! I would not have it so!"

"On the mountain, his memory recovered somewhat when it should not have done so! You even sought to jeopardize my mission! I gave you this opportunity to restore your credibility with the other Queens, to be accepted with other Wraith. This simple task and you failed! Now return his memory!" And his voice thundered down the whole length of the chamber setting off the clamour of cries and pleas for help from the humans once more. One of the Wraith guards set off down the row of cocoons striking them all silent.

"I will not!"

Her Wraith escort looked unsure. Should they grab her again? She was a Queen and yet they were following the orders of a Commander. Indeed, conflicted. Yet Todd suffered from none of those qualms.

"You will do so!"

"I do not take orders from a Commander! I certainly will not come to the aid of a mere human! I will certainly not to come to the aid of _this_ human!"

He reached forward and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her to the balls of her feet. She struggled to release his hold, groping at his coat.

"You will do this!"

Though... he would never be able to trust her ever again... Did not his mind seek an opportunity, an excuse to end her life?

"You think to kill me!" He was shielding his mind but she must surely read the murderous intent in his eyes. "You think that threats will make me do this!" she struggled out. "I would rather die! I loathe that man! I loathe him utterly! You know that! I would want this revenge. I cannot kill him! But he will never be John Sheppard ever again! Never! I have taken that away from him! I curse him! I do not need Forfallen! And his memory will never be restored. Whether you kill-"

His right hand went to her chest and he fed. Tired of her ranting.

It was that simple.

No conscience, no compunction that he had broken with millennium of Wraith history and tradition. He watched unfeeling as she withered and shrivelled before him. Of course, he had killed a Wraith Queen before now. But not this way. Not the way reserved for food, for humans. No Commander had ever committed this – no, not crime. He was her judge and executioner.

It was that simple.

And he felt nothing special about the assimilation of her life force into his. Perhaps she had lost her nobility and it would be little different than feeding on a Drone. She had stooped so very low.

Her withered husk fell to the floor. A quiet noise like sand shifting now the human captives had been silenced. The Wraith escort backed off. Shocked. Still unsure this was correct protocol? He must be seen to be in control. His hand that he quickly concealed, shook a little, his voice must not.

"Throw this out!" And he stepped over the Queen's corpse, to draw near to the sleeping Sheppard.

Of course, there was little hope of restoring John Sheppard's mind to him, once the _daxak_, the mind controller was dead. Perhaps he, himself, could do this now he had fed on the Queen? Become a substitute _daxak_? Or perhaps another Queen?

The Wraith busied themselves disposing of the Queen's body behind him, while he, using two hands, gently lifted the limp head of the Colonel, pushing him back into a more comfortable position in the cocoon. The movement did not wake Sheppard. And neither did Todd desire it necessarily. Interference with the Colonel's mind was most probably unwise in this weakened state, even though Todd ash Luyten's temper had demanded it of the Queen.

No. Rest. Rest until they reached Atlantis was requisite. Until they reached proper medical care. And trust could be repaired in addition to Sheppard's health. This is what he was desirous of most. And not simply for the sake of the Alliance.

But he now possessed too much in the way of pessimism to believe trust was any longer attainable. He could feel it stretching beyond his reach. Atlantis would not trust him if he were return Sheppard in this state of mind.

And certainly Sheppard's trust had vanished forever.

He had gained much from the Forfallen incident. But he may have lost so much too.

"Illum, friend, steadfast as the light of distant stars," he murmured.

-oAo-

"Wha?" And he blinked at the white face.

"John Sheppard." And those words had been said to him before. And he didn't know their meaning. He moved sending a spasm of pain down to his leg. Discomfort where tubes probed into his body at his arm. Even one that he breathed through at his nose. But he couldn't shift, still bound in the cocoon.

'_Wraith prey on humans. Watch and be very afraid, that is your next task,'_ instructed the Voice of the Witch.

And he is afraid. Dread hurts his chest.

What would it feel like to be fed on? Had the Wraith come for that? Was it even a Wraith before him? His vision was so blurred he could not even tell. Perhaps they wouldn't feed on him as he was so sick. He was shivering and clammy even in the snugness of his web.

"Wha?"

"Do you not remember me?"

He squinted and the face of Todd ash Luyten loomed in close.

"Master?" His Master was to feed on him? Took him to Forfallen to see how he'd shape up? He'd been set aside for the feast all along? And he had been asked to trust this Wraith?

Todd ash Luyten seemed disappointed with the reply and pulled back, lost in the dark fog once more.

"I had hoped with rest, your memory would return."

Illum didn't understand.

"I remember Forfallen," he gasped, hoping that might win him favour. Hoped that was the correct thing to say. "Why am I here?... I thought... I thought you trusted me?" he sounded pathetic but was too weak to muster anything like anger.

"You are in the cocoon to keep you alive. You are being supplied fluids to make you well again."

"Enzyme?"

"Some of that yes. Doses of antidote too. Soon we will reach Atlantis and I can hand you over to the care of Dr Keller. Do you not remember Atlantis?"

It was too much effort to reply let alone work out what the question meant.

"It is where you live," said the disembodied voice of Todd ash Luyten that hovered at the edge of his unconsciousness.

"Good," he said, and couldn't think why.

He dosed and woke again.

"John Sheppard?"

And the Voice of the Witch said: _'three times he will utter your name. On the third, you will be no more...'_

"John Sheppard?" Hands at his head that shook him... then... floated away...

Nothing.

"John Sheppard? Illum! Illum!"

Nothing.

Nothing.

-oAo-


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

'They tricked me once more, beyond their deaths. How could I be so...'

'Arrogant?' Rodney had supplied, with his arms folded, head held to on side.

Possibly truth. And John Sheppard had once said, 'truth hurts. An earth saying. One you wouldn't understand.'

The meadows to Fini's cottage stretched out before Todd ash Luyten, bathed in sunlight. He knew that images such as these hung on walls, adorning human dwellings. Idyllic, they called it. The scientist warrior in him, that main part of him, had always called them 'scribbling'. Dreams, tales told to children that covered reality and truth. As he kicked through long grass, there was both killing and living, with all its cruelty, even now at his feet. The strong devouring the weak. Larger insects preying on the smaller. And yet to look at the lush pasture, you would not think this was so. Contradictions always. Good intentions that turn sour. All life, and yes, he as Wraith shared this, moved in one flow, ever changing but ever turbulent. Nothing is ever etched permanent as a perfect picture of a summer season's day.

But even this, he reflected on but little. His mind more preoccupied with replaying scenes from the last couple of days as some manic malfunctioning data recorder. A drama that contrasted starkly to his present environment.

It had taken Major Lorne, two marines and Teyla to hold off Ronon Dex.

'I'll kill you! Let – me - get my hands on him, I will kill him!'

'And you will not!' Teyla had scolded, her slight form in Ronon's face even though he towered above her four hands height. He yielded a little. Muscles that held face and arms tight, loosened and softened. Much to Teyla's relief. The infirmary of Atlantis was not the place to have this conversation.

And she had laid a hand gently on Ronon's arm.

'Let us be grateful that Todd has brought John back to us, and the Forfallen are no more.' She was unifying them all, however much emotions ran high. For these were truths that they had to acknowledge. And a difficult opinion for even Teyla to adhere to when possibly her own optimism failed her.

And Todd ash Luyten had sensed her heart shatter...

For John Sheppard had continued to lie, looking only to the ceiling, a mind broken. Eyes empty and vacant. Just as he had in the cocoon, when Todd had lifted Sheppard's head, feeling his own despair at those unseeing eyes. Nothing had changed since that moment. John Sheppard's former face was re-shaping itself but John Sheppard was lost forever.

Sometimes his eyes would close. Minutes. An hour. And it had felt like relief. But they knew he did not dream. Nothing registered on the monitors that connected to his brain via wires.

His body remembered only to breath. Only to continue with the steady rhythm of a heart beat.

His mind was apparently devoid of all thought.

Teyla had taken Sheppard's hand. Lifeless in hers and had squeezed it tight, as if forcing, compelling him to remember something. To show some recognition in his eyes. To show that he was human once more. Capable of speech and touch.

And Todd sighed as he walked on, and yes, he supposed she showed affection too.

But John Sheppard was dead to them all…

Todd ash Luyten looked up suddenly as a flock of birds startled at his approach took flight but he held them in scant regard. He had reached a group of trees that marked the edge of Fini's village. Beyond were a few scattered cottages.

Hmm, he grunted, climbing the last grassy knoll before the village and paused, as the cry of children playing, dogs barking, men calling, chickens clucking reached him. He would not take the road but follow round behind the dwellings. He had no desire to disturb their peace even if his was greatly affected. He had long ago, in deference to Fini's wishes that he refrained from frightening the local children here, landed his Dart well away from Fini's neighbours. He fingered at Fini's pendant that he still wore at his neck. The concessions he had made to the mortal, nearly on par with those granted to John Sheppard...

And as he strode on, he was soon lost in thought once more.

He had permitted Dr. Keller on board his ship with a medical team. Had detailed to her the outcome of the mission and Sheppard's injuries, escorting her, himself, to the cocoon chamber.

'A cocoon? You tied him up in a cocoon?' she had asked with much incredulity, as she had begun to professionally supervise Sheppard being cut free, replacing the basic Wraith life support with their own, in readiness for transportation back to Atlantis.

Todd ash Luyten had noticed that she chewed at her lip seeing the manner in which John Sheppard stared into space.

'Couldn't you, at least, have... you know... let _them_ go?' She had said, with lowered voice as she prepared medical equipment, nodding to the cries of other cocoon occupants.

'It is our food,' he had simply said.

'Can't you, at least, let me sedate them?'

'And contaminate our food?' he had asked in genuine surprise. She shook her head seeing there could be no argument and had turned her attention once more to her patient.

'He still has a fever,' she had said, feeling John Sheppard's forehead and running a scanner over his body while one of Todd's Wraith carefully removed the webbing.

'It is most probably the poison,' he explained. She had been handed a vial of the anecdote developed in his own laboratory and looking at it disdainfully, she murmured that she would be running her own tests but thanked them all the same.

'More like infection. Or both. This is...' and her face had screwed up in disgust, waving a hand at the cocoon, 'not the best of environments.' He had felt stung by the criticism in her voice. Though yes, dead bodies had once been held in the recess.

'We endeavoured to do our best. In the circumstances,' he had said curtly.

'Yes. Yes,' she had said, preoccupied, now that Sheppard's arms were free, extracting Wraith tubes and supplanting them with her own.

But he had had his own tentative question that he scarcely dared to broach - hoped it was nothing that her skill could not correct.

'He does not appear to recognise us? Or you? He responds to... nothing.' Perhaps this was natural. Perhaps there was a chance this was not the work of the Forfallen or the Queen.

'Possibly some form of traumatic shock. There's no brain damage showing. I'll be running more scans and tests as soon as we get him back.'

He had his own regrettable explanation.

'They reached him. In the end. They slipped past me and took his mind.'

'Pardon?' she had said, not understanding, her eyes searching his as she helped her two medics lay Sheppard upon their gurney.

For this was not scientific talk.

And yet, it had been Rodney who had put it correctly (though he had scoffed!) when Todd ash Luyten had accompanied Dr. Keller and submitted himself to that 'debriefing' with Mr. Woolsey.

'You mean he's cursed still?'

'And it is regrettably my fault. I apologise Teyla Emmagan, that I was unable to fulfil my promise to you. To keep him safe. I will make amends.'

'With your life!' Ronon Dex had growled afresh.

'If that is what it takes,' Todd ash Luyten had avowed. Though doubt had sat on all their faces.

So his quest was sending him to the doorstep of Fini and Todd ash Luyten hoped the human was not too engrossed in preparing cabbage soup, such was the obnoxious odour coming from the cottages that grouped round his.

"Hey! Hey, you!"

He looked up quickly, startled that there were humans in such proximity. A large leafy oak spread out above him. Two male human children, _boys,_ of about ten years sat on a branch, gazing down at him, swinging their legs, scarcely two hand lengths from his head.

"You a Wraith, ain't cha?" Todd ash Luyten considered this, trying to decipher the boy's rustic Pegasian before understanding the full meaning of the question. The boy's tone contained something of awe, and something of a dare. Todd ash Luyten could admire both qualities if addressed so.

And it was touching that they did not know - having grown up under Todd's protection -did not realise the danger beneath them.

"'Course he's Wraith! He's the Wraith that used to visit Fini!" said one to his fellow.

"Thought you ate people?" asked the other.

"Tales told to children," said Todd ash Luyten lightly, proceeding on, and then stopped.

"Used to?" True, he had not visited Fini of late.

"He ascended! Woof!" and the boy made a circle with both arms very nearly causing his fall off his perch, grabbing at another branch before he did.

"Ascended?"

"Ascended. You know, _died."_

Naturally, Fini was so old. And why should he not depart this realm? Though _now_? This was going to prove… irksome. But Fini had been old for so long... Todd had never considered it. He had visited Fini now, five centuries between hibernations? He had never before thought that Fini had lived beyond the usual span of men. It was simply Fini able to do these things. Todd had simply assumed that Fini's mystic powers accounted for his longevity. And yes, he had taken Fini for granted, that he would always... _be there_.

'You see that old oak there, I planted that, a sapling grown from an acorn,' Fini had pointed out one day.

'Yes. Yes. Fini, but what if I took my ship to quadrant 67? Do you think the Queen will look on this action favourably?' That was the progression of most of their conversations.

"It happened here! Right in this very spot! By this tree. Shimmered in a beam of light like a star come to ground," continued the boy.

Todd ash Luyten looked in the direction of Fini's cottage. Saw the weeds already in the vegetable patch. Frowned, perplexed.

This was as if the last door had slammed in his face. There were no more options open to John Sheppard except the healing of time, and much hope. Somehow, he did not believe that either time or hope was going to help Sheppard's situation.

"The cottage is empty?" he asked up to the tree top. But this was pointless. It mattered little now.

"Nah! His stuff's still in there. Left it for a new doctor. But who will come here? And my little brother has a stomach ache. But my cousin's going to get married next month and they were going to box it all up then, so she could have the place."

He was already briskly marching to the cottage before the boy had finished and was soon up the path, pushing open the door, bowing his head at the lintel to enter the tiny kitchen.

Ashes still lay in the grate. A few cooking utensils sat draining in the sink. Otherwise everything was neat and tidy. But Fini must have made his decision to Ascend quickly. Why leave these people now without a doctor? Had the curse extended here? The Forfallen had seen Fini's part in their downfall and Fini had been compelled to escape? This did not sound like Fini, however.

There. In the back room.

On the many shelves of potions, showing itself through the bunches of drying herbs that hung there, he spotted the missive he was hoping to see. Fini would not have left without word if it was of his choosing.

He extricated the parchment, thick and yellow from its cubby hole between two jars.

Addressed to: 'The Wraith High Commander.'

Todd ash Luyten nodded and wheezed slightly, appreciative of the acknowledgement of rank, though Fini had always argued, all beings are equal.

He opened the letter with care, sensing the weight of some object held in its folds. A pendant, identical to his own, slipped into his palm.

Well, now, there's a surprise.

Fini had led him to believe that his own pendant was unique. An untruth?

The message was simple and short, though it took his brain a moment, accustomed as it was to the rolling Wraith code of data screens, to decipher the Pegasian script.

'_My time here is done. I came to do what I had to do.'_

Somewhat repetitive, Fini?

'_Though five hundred years is a long time to wait to bring two halves together. Both pendants were cut from one stone. Give the second pendant to John Sheppard. It is the answer to the question you came to ask me. Usually, we do not interfere. But he is a son of ours, after all. _

_Post script. Please ask Dr. Keller to visit the village from time to time. The boy, Fedus, has a stomach ache.'_

Todd ash Luyten studied the pendant again, nudging it with his free fingers as it lay on his palm, not fully comprehending all of the words. Wondering if he had misread them, if they had been written in Fini's haste to leave and were unclear.

The name of 'Illum' was simply etched on the reverse of the stone.

He returned his attention back to the sheet of paper.

The page was now blank.

"Well, now..."

Tales told to children of magic and happy endings.

-oAo-

Rodney lay flat on his back, staring into the dark space of the ceiling. This wasn't his normal position to sleep. And it wasn't all that comfortable. Usually, if he slept like this, he ended up with a crick somewhere along the length of his spine and a dull ache in his kidneys. And Jenny always told him he snored lying like this anyhow. She was probably right. He did always seem to wake up with dribble at the side of his mouth, a trail going down to a damp patch on the pillow, or coughing with a dry throat like he'd just had a belly full of roasted nuts and one had stuck there.

He snapped his mouth shut.

So... nearly fell asleep there, huh?

But he was sure he wasn't all that sleepy. So... it didn't matter how he lay.

Staring at the dark space of the ceiling. Seeing nothing.

But that was Sheppard's lot in life, now, wasn't it?

What was it like? To see... nothing. To _think_... nothing.

And he tried it. And it was impossibly hard. So what force was it, holding his friend like that?

And he rolled over to his side, driving back the tear that pricked at his nose, feeling little comfort from the blanket that he pulled up around his shoulders.

A force that had no scientific name. No Latin. No Greek. No mathematical formula. Nothing biological. And no solution for Jenny or Dr. Pat Cornwell, city shrink extraordinaire, who'd help him overcome his paranoia of all things whale related.

Voodoo. Double double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Witches out on a blasted heath. Then a vampire arrives at the Alpha site and leaves... a lucky blue charm on the DHD because he's exiled and not allowed to enter the big magical city with all the towers. You couldn't make this fairy tale up if you tried. And it finishes with a sleeping prince who won't wake up.

Except he did... once.

Screaming.

Suddenly, without warning, leaping up from his bed, pulling off wires, letting out that piercing scream that believably could have sent everyone within a six kilometre radius into cardiac arrest.

How could anyone lie so still, so motionless and then go into such craziness in nought point one second flat?

It was dark in his room but Rodney saw that image play before his eyes in full panoramic Technicolor.

"Take it out! Take it out!" and Sheppard was gripping at his injured right arm with his left hand, attempting with frenzied strength to rip the blade out, shredding dressings with his bare hands. Even his teeth. The knuckles of his hand white with effort, squeezing so hard against his skin, he popped stitches and blood flowed. Crying, sobbing, "take it out! Take it out! Human! Human! Not a killing machine! Take it out! Take it out! Please, for God's sake, take it out!"

It had taken three medics and Ronon and possibly a triple dose of sedation, if she were sensible, administered from Jenny straight into his neck to quieten him. Irony that now they _wanted_ him to sleep.

And irony too that the blade had already been cut out under surgery. Though Rodney had thought that Sheppard would have liked to be some sort of Wolverine. But Todd had told them, removing it had been Sheppard's wish.

But, they had all stood breathless. Pale. Hearts beating. And it had been Dr. Pat Cornwell's opinion that the outburst was perhaps a good sign.

No one could really see how, though.

And Rodney, turned over to his other side. His 'best' side.

How could it be the pendant doing this? He'd investigated it. Done a full range of tests. It was unique. Formed from an element not unlike Naquaala, that Todd has said was called Noquolon, and no, he'd not heard of it before either. Though Todd wouldn't divulge its source. And Rodney imagined that the Wraith had gone to some weird smoky Arab-like bazaar, in full disguise and had exchanged it for human parts. It gave off a faint electromagnetic pulse but nothing more. It was just a pretty polished stone. You'd think Todd had been conned. He ought to demand his human spare parts back.

Except that Teyla had believed in it.

But was it working? Because Sheppard, for the last twenty four hours had resumed his former staring at the ceiling.

And this was also etched into Rodney's mind... Sheppard, since his homecoming, had never been expressionless. True, those brown eyes didn't blink. But those brown eyes were also desolate. No hope. As if cursed to witness some terrible pitiful happening for all eternity with no respite.

And that expression was the most heartbreaking thing of all

No hope.

And it mirrored all what they were feeling.

A noise somewhere in the darkness.

"Wha?"

Again.

"What?" His earpiece on his nightstand and he thought lights and they came on dim and he reached for the device, pressing it close to his ear.

"Teyla?" Whoever it was, wasn't making a lot of sense.

"Teyla, if that's you, you're going to have to say it again."

She was laughing? Had the world gone completely crazy? She was crying? Or both?

"Come to the infirmary!"

His stomach did a couple of somersaults... butterflies with heavy gravity boots.

"It's John, isn't it?" He'd decided days ago to prepare for the worse and it was here now. Though he didn't feel the least bit prepared. Days weren't near long enough to prepare for something like this. A year wouldn't even do it.

"Yes, it's John! It's John! He's woken up! He said my name, Rodney! He's come back! Rodney, he's come back to us!"

And Rodney couldn't scrabble into clothes soon enough. Yes. He might have even been zipping up his fly with one hand and trying to shuffle on his jacket with the other as he made it to the nearest transporter doors but at this ungodly hour who was going to see him?

Teyla and Ronon were already there. Though their faces weren't exactly a picture postcard of happiness. Why did he get the sudden feeling of another false alarm... the way that Jenny and Pat glanced up at him might explain that one.

And the way that John still stared catatonic on the bed... Jenny had one of her pen light thingies checking out his eyes

But...

"Did he just blink?" He must have imagined it.

Jenny straightened up, smiling slightly at Rodney, clicking the light shut and putting it away in her pocket.

"Yup, and I'm getting some pupil reaction too."

"He said my name, Rodney," repeated Teyla, still hardly able to believe it, sniffing and swiping another tear from her face with the back of her hand, and then accepting a tissue from Dr. Cornwell.

"We've told you all, it's probably early days," explained Pat, looking from one to another. "We've got little idea how much of his memory will return."

"At the moment, it's two steps forward, and one backward, but that was more than we had forty-eight hours ago," pointed out Jenny, now at the foot of the bed where she was peeling back Sheppard's sheets to reveal his feet.

"You mean it's down to the stone?" asked Ronon, folding his arms.

"I wouldn't like to say." And she shrugged. "It might be a coincidence. But I, for one, am not about to remove it to find out. Not at this stage anyhow. Are you?" She was tickling the arch of John's foot? And then brought out a needle.

Rodney felt himself paling at the way the implement of obvious torture glinted in the infirmary lights.

"It's ok, Rodney, I'm just testing for reflexes. Turn away... you don't have to look."

But, transfixed to the spot, he couldn't help himself, and saw the way that the skin on Sheppard's foot flinched, and Jenny nodded, satisfied, replacing the bed-sheets. And he quickly checked Sheppard's face – they all did – but there'd been no sign of reaction there.

"It's good you're all here," said Pat, "and yes, I know it's the middle of the night, but we've discussed this before, he still needs talking to. He needs to hear your voices. Discuss anything. We're certain he'll pull round a lot sooner. Teyla probably should get some rest now." But Teyla was shaking her head. "Ok, but folks, don't be disappointed if there's nothing to show for it by the morning. Even if nothing significant happens, I still think John is making some headway here."

"He can do this… pull through. I know that he can," said Teyla.

-oAo-

He flicked his eyes open. He'd been dosing and now he'd woken from a dream where he was sure someone had been tickling his big toe. And then there a pinprick of pain, gone in an instant. What the hell?

The auburn haired lady... whose name was...

"Tey… la," he said in a voice that might have been his, but was only a broken whisper.

"Hello, John. It's good to see you again."

And with a smile like that, how could he say anything but "Good. Too." But he wasn't sure those two simple words had come out right. His thoughts were lazy and not matching his words that were even lazier.

And then, turning his head on the nice comfy pillow he saw... whose name was... and it escaped him... on the tip of his tongue and gone...

"It's Rodney," she encouraged, seeing his puzzled face.

"Rodney. I knew that," he claimed dozily. And then, while Rodney complained about being forgotten, he said, "Ronon. Hey."

"Hey," the big guy said back. Friend. Team. From long ago, and he was ok again.

And he hitched up the bed slightly – he was in the infirmary – with wires and things draped and attached at all angles - determined to make himself presentable - and failed - too weak. Weak as a baby and just too drowsy to care particularly. His leg throbbed slightly. As did his right arm. More injuries then. This was getting to feel like Groundhog Day. Though he had no memory of how these particular injuries had come about.

He squinted at Teyla, nearly losing her in some haziness, and she was wiping tears from her face.

"Hey, hey," he said again, "you crying?"

"Yes, John," she sniffed, still smiling broadly, "I am crying. But not because I am sad."

He pulled a face. "Well, that's... _good_."

This was Teyla but that didn't mean he was comfortable with her crying all over him. He couldn't exactly give her a hug and lifted his hands uselessly, still all cabled up with tubes to demonstrate that. Electrodes even connected his temples to monitors. He had to have been ill to have earned himself this degree of wiring. To have earned himself Teyla's tears of joy…

"What's the capital of Canada?"

"Rodney!" remonstrated Jenny. And another figure came into focus.

"I just thought," and the scientist shrugged. "You know, I'd just change the routine. You always ask about Washington D.C."

"Does _anyone_ know the capital of Canada?" asked Sheppard. "Hey, does anyone even know where _Canada_ is?" And he coughed at saying so much, but Teyla was right there with a glass of water to ease his parched throat, though a cold beer might have been more appealing.

"See, there's nothing wrong with him! Same old insulting self!" said Rodney. But smiling crookedly.

He tried hitching himself up again and Jenny must have realise his attempts were pretty pathetic and hurried to his side, jacking up the bed, plumping up his pillows. And he found his hands shaking so much to accept the drink and his right arm hurt like hell, he just had to allow Teyla to hold the glass and straw steady for him.

He paused in drinking and then croaked out,

"What's wrong with me?"

"You suffered an injury to your thigh and were poisoned by the Forfallen. And you have just come out of coma. This accounts for loss of memory, but you appear to be fine now," explained Teyla.

It was the 'coma' part he zoned in on.

"A coma? I had a bang on the head?"

"No, cursed again," said Ronon.

"The wicked witch. Got her revenge in the end," said Rodney.

"The Queen? One day, one day, I'm not going to be an invalid anymore," he vowed, because this had gone on long enough, waking up in the infirmary. And finishing his drink, he flopped back against the pillows

But the pain from the movement reminded him of his arm, and he looked down, too lethargic to literally lift a finger.

"What happened?" An image of a blade slashing at black bodies. A mutated part of himself. "Tell me, you took it out?" he said staring at the freakish horror of his arm as if the blade still sat there in front of him.

They all shifted uneasily looking at each other, surprised then, that he remembered that much.

"You _did_ take it out?" he insisted.

"Yes, John. It's gone," assured Jenny. "Todd told us that you wanted it removed."

The Wraith had said that?

"He saved my life, you know..."

And as he remembered Todd, he remembered too the way his appearance had been changed, and he touched his cheeks, suddenly wanting a mirror very badly.

"And same old _vain_ self!" said Rodney, rolling his eyes.

"It's ok. Your face is back again," assured Ronon, his voice low and smiling. Yeah, that guy understood these things.

"Todd?"

"The Forfallen are all dead. Mission accomplished," said Rodney satisfied.

"Where is he?" Sheppard still wanted an answer about Todd.

"Went away. Wasn't welcome," explained Ronon.

Sheppard wasn't so sure. He wanted to thank Todd. There was something in the shredded tatters of his memory that told him, they'd just been to hell and back. Together. And he wouldn't have made it if it hadn't been for the Wraith.

"Didn't exactly do what was promised on the tin," said Rodney, and Sheppard thinking his own thoughts, wasn't really taking it in. He wasn't sure how he felt about Todd. He felt there was a gap somewhere that his brain just couldn't fill in. The Queen reaching for his head and then nothing. He shivered. At some point he'd been… poisoned?

"You ok, John?" asked Jenny concerned, looking up from checking monitors.

"Yeah. He saved my life, you know." And they all glanced at each other, worried. Had he just repeated himself?

"And nearly got you killed too," pointed out Ronon.

"I'd... I'd really like to thank him."

"What for? It's not like you have to show him good manners or anything?" asked Rodney.

"He saved my life," said Sheppard again.

"Many times," agreed Teyla knowingly.

And he shifted in the bed again. "How long have I been out for? What's happened to the Alliance?"

"The talks have been postponed. Matters are a little... awkward with Todd at the moment," said Teyla.

"Fill him in later, huh, guys? He still needs rest, we don't want another relapse," interrupted Jenny. Though he didn't take that in. His mind was wandering off again… he felt sort of detached from reality. Facts were coming to him suddenly and then they were gone again just as suddenly…

"He saved my life..." and trailed off. How many times had he said that now? No wonder they were looking at him and each other like they thought he'd lost it. "He might have saved us all. It deserved thanks. But... I'll probably get my chance," he sighed, "that guy has a habit of turning up like a bad penny."

He didn't know why, but his hand went to his dog tags. Restored to him then. And something else hung there. That he fumbled for.

"What's... what's this?" he asked, peering down at his chest, though the crick in his neck, and his sore throat protested. "A necklace? Hey, guys I'm touched but you shouldn't have bothered. Blue's just not my colour." But what the hell? He was dreaming.

In his drunken, dopey state, he lowered his head, reaching with his left hand suddenly feeling it was very important to get this thing off him. He felt like Mr T.

"No! No! No!" four voices cried out in unison, hands, arms reaching out to him.

And Rodney's hand was in there first, firmly holding his arm down.

"You don't really want to be doing that!"

It was probably going to get tangled up in all the wiring. That's why they were all yelling at him.

"I don't?"

"Oh no. You're still cursed," Rodney said pretty convincingly.

"I am?" and he searched Rodney's eyes for answers, suddenly worried as hell after everything he'd been through.

"Yes, cursed to wear a blue girlie necklace for the rest of your natural," said Rodney, now with an evil glint in his eyes. And the rest were smiling at his expense too. "Don't worry. I've had it tested. It's resistant to all the hair products you care to throw at it."

-oAo-

The thing with three eyes dissolved into a gooey red puddle of gluck. Sending up a wispy trail of acrid smoke.

Sheppard, grimacing at the stench, lowered his rifle and tentatively approached to ensure the 'thing' was now dead. Not that he was going to poke it with his boot or anything – the way the creature was now burning a hole in the grass showed its corpse had all the properties of concentrated sulphuric acid and you had to treat that kind of thing with respect.

Todd came out of his hiding place of near-by shrubs, still carrying his stunner – Sheppard guessed it was still set in kill mode - and stood beside him to gaze at the fast disappearing form. Sheppard acknowledged him with a nod. And it felt weird – to be in such close proximity to the Wraith and... still feel perfectly at ease.

"Ugly, was he not?" asked Todd. "Who would have thought it was capable of such intelligence?"

Sheppard glanced at him, refraining from saying, 'who are you calling ugly?'

"You claiming this one, or am I?" They'd both broken off from their respective teams to track down this one individual – gunfire and stunner blasts of the others were still to be heard echoing throughout the forest – and had simultaneously begun firing from opposite sides, neither knowing the other was there – it was a wonder they hadn't accidentally killed one another.

"Oh, I do believe it was very much a joint effort, do you not agree?"

They were quiet as the last of the creature sizzled to nothingness. The distant gunfire stopped suddenly.

"Ah well," and Todd shrugged, looked up to the sky and sniffed, "time to go. It has been good meeting you once more." And he strode off.

"Hey! Hey! Wait a minute!" called out Sheppard after him.

Todd came to a halt and turned. Quizzical. It was a word that Sheppard wouldn't ordinarily use but heck, it described that look of Todd's ... and... but… what did he want to say exactly anyhow?

He took a few steps forward so they didn't have to yell at one another, clipping his P90 to his tac vest – his arm now throbbed where the creature had tried taking a chunk of him.

"Thanks..."

And he whipped out a field dressing from a pocket, hissing at the pain as he tore open the packet with his teeth-

And there was Todd looking at him more quizzical than ever.

"I just wanted to say thanks... I never had the chance before," he said, applying the pad all awkward with the one hand. "And... and I'm sorry the Alliance didn't work out."

"In the end," sighed Todd, "it has become of little importance. We share an objective and as I predicted we would, we are essentially fighting on the same side, defending ourselves against a common enemy. The Alliance was perhaps unnecessary."

"Yeah, yeah... they… the guys handling our side of things would have insisted you stopped feeding anyhow."

"And what of you? Would you have attempted to prevent it?"

"We're not the same," he said bluntly. It was always going to be a stumbling block.

"I don't remember everything," he continued, trying to find a comfortable position on his rifle to rest his injured arm, "about the time when I was Illum. But I get these moments of recall – out of the blue - you used the mind control on me twice, didn't you? You couldn't trust me once I'd discovered you were feeding on humans."

"I'm surprised that you remember so much."

And Sheppard didn't really. It was just a feeling sometimes. Like trying to snatch at an elusive dream.

"You haven't answered my question," he said.

"Does it matter? Now? But the answer is yes. And it is not something I am proud of. But I could not afford to have the plan go wrong simply because of... misgivings on your part. It might even have been the reason why you were unable to revert back to normality for, by approaching you with the _aiolac_ a second time, it permitted the Queen greater control over you -You wear it still?" and Sheppard followed Todd's look – that Wraith'ssnakey eyes didn't miss a thing - looking down to where the creature had ripped the top fastening of his tac, leaving a tattered hole in his T-shirt - and a deep graze at his throat that now smarted like hell – revealing his dog tags and the blue stone.

"Yeah... we keep thinking... give it go... see what happens if I went without it... just don't want to take that risk somehow... though," and he smiled wryly, "doesn't exactly feel like much of a lucky charm right now." And he glanced down again, indicating the wound. "And the laundry's out again. And the remote to the TV room's gone missing. What about you? You wear yours still?" because Teyla had said that Todd had worn a pendant nearly identical.

But this was weird - to be chatting like this, as if... catching up on old times... with a friend...

Todd took a step closer, unbuttoning the top of his coat to pull out his pendant. And although Sheppard had asked, just to be conversational, he felt surprised to see it. Teyla had said that Todd's reason for wearing it had been different, to help him strengthen his shielding against the Forfallen. But the Forfallen were dead. Why was it still there around the Wraith's neck? Sheppard sensed this was sort of symbolic, of their bond... and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"I am pleased, John Sheppard to see you are, nonetheless, well under its protection," said Todd eying him levelly. Yeah, bond...

"But you, I bet you've never had a day's illness in your life."

Todd huffed and gazed high to the tree-tops. Bond. And he wasn't going to admit it.

"I... I don't remember everything..." Sheppard repeated, trailing off as he looked down again, touching his own pendant – yeah, as if that'd help with how awkward he was feeling right now. The nightmares of giant Iratus bugs had stopped. Long conversations with Pat had seen to that. And time. To be replaced by yet more nightmares of three eyed red monsters. "But… but I do remember that you not only saved my life that time on Atlantis, but again afterwards... the antidote and… other things…" The use of a cocoon… "and… well… thanks."

Todd simply bowed his head, slightly bemused judging by the sparkle in his eye, at his stuttering and stammering – and that was annoying.

"And my thanks to you also, to agree to trust me in our mission regarding the Forfallen."

"Yeah, yeah... I did that, didn't I?... But the pendants... you're going to have to tell me how you came to find them?"

"I understand I am not at liberty to divulge that."

"You mean you don't trust me, after all? All that talk about alliances and trust, and yet you're being coy about your sources? Because more like them would be handy to fight off all those other evil guys out there."

"I was also led to understand that there are only the two in existence. And they were fabricated specifically for the two of us."

"Oh." And Sheppard bit his lip and studied the burnt circle of grass. Bond again.

"But they could make some more?"

"You are one persistent human, are you not?" with something of a genial smile on that face of his.

Sheppard shrugged.

"The person responsible is now deceased," explained Todd.

"Oh," said Sheppard again. Another brick wall then, but why had Todd got to be so damn cryptic? "Well, that's unfortunate. Not an untimely end, I hope." And there was a deliberate hint of accusation in there.

"What happened to trust? If you are implying that I had anything to do with his death, then you are mistaken. But what does their origin matter?" he said, dismissing the subject with a wave of a hand. "It is the quality they are imbued with that is more important."

"You believe in all this lucky charm stuff then?"

"Belief? Yes. Opening one's eyes to new truths? Yes, indeed, Illum, friend, steadfast as the light from the distant star." And with that, he walked off.

'_Sheppard. You ok?'_

And Sheppard tapped his earpiece.

"Yeah, Ronon. We had a problem and we dealt with it."

End.


End file.
